The Other Holmes
by fluffykitty12
Summary: When Sherlock's niece turns up at 221 B and abruptly disappears into the hands of Moriarti, everyone's patience is tested as they try to free her. Orphaned and rejected by Sherlock, will she have the courage to free herself and will he understand that he really does care about his niece? Will she live long enough for him to tell her so?
1. Anywhere but Mycroft's

**Chapter 1: Anywhere but Mycroft's**

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Sherlock's mobile rang just as John entered the kitchen of 221 B.

"John, can you get that?" Sherlock asked, not bothering to look up from his microscope. John sighed but picked up the call.

"Hello?" he asked. His brow crinkled with concern as he heard what was going on. "Yes, I see… I'll tell him, yes…. I hope you find her." John hung up and turned to Sherlock, eyes wide.

"You have a niece?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, twelve years old, if I remember correctly."

John gaped. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never asked." Sherlock said simply. "Besides, I haven't seen her in ages, anyways."

"Well, she's gone missing."

Sherlock didn't look up. "Has she, now?"

John sighed. "Yes. And they want us to help look for her."

"Unnecessary." Sherlock said, turning back to his experiment.

"What do you mean unnecessary?" John balked. "She's your _niece, _for crying out loud! And it's a terrible night to be kidnapped!"

It was thundering and lightening outside, and thunder crashed just then, as if to prove his point.

"Because she isn't missing. She's run away."

"Away from what?' John asked, still trying to take all the news in.

"Well, that text I got from Mycroft the other night was about her mother. She's dead."

"Your sister is dead? You have a sister?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Obviously, if I have a niece, I have a sibling other than Mycroft. Her name was Mary. And she's dead."

John was silent fort a moment, and the thunder gave a low rumble.

"I'm sorry." John said quietly.

Sherlock said nothing.

John sighed and sat down. "So, what's happening, then? I mean, where's the girl going to go? Doesn't she have a father?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Killed in Afghanistan when she was eight."

John swallowed at the mention of Afghanistan but nodded. "Okay. So she's an orphan, now. Where is she going to stay?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Mycroft said he wanted her."

"Well, now she's disappeared."

Sherlock gave John a disapproving look. "No, only gone from Mycroft. Probably didn't like him. She's going to be here soon, I imagine."

"Well, shouldn't we go find her? She's only twelve, after all, pretty helpless."

Sherlock chuckled at that. "You don't know Anna, then. She's a crack shot, amazing woodsman, smart, and has her mother's spirit. She might be young, but she knows exactly what she's gotten herself into by running away. The only thing that will surprise her is how big London is, but I doubt that will slow her up for long."

"What do you mean, surprised at how big it is?"

'Well, she was raised in the Yorkshire Dales, so this place will probably seem enormous to her…."

"She's never seen a large city before?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, never. She was in New York City once, but she's never been to London."

"Are you crazy? You're just going to let her wander around London without a clue? She'll get kidnapped, or mugged, or something!"

Sherlock shrugged. "Unlikely for a girl of her wit. She should be here any minute now anyways…."

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Sherlock stood and went to sit on the couch.

"That's her. Will you get it for me?"

John nodded dumbly and went downstairs to open the door.

"Um… hello…." John tried.

The girl was smaller than he'd expected, about four eight, with light brown hair in a ponytail tossed over one shoulder, and intelligent green eyes that seemed searching, like Sherlock's

"Hello." She said.

He couldn't help but feel she was scrutinizing him, taking in every detail, and it was so unnervingly like Sherlock he had to look away.

He looked back at her attire and was surprised to see she looked partially like a soldier, in a military jacket that was far too big for her, with a camouflage back pack on her left shoulder. "I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes, your flat mate, I assume."

John nodded dumbly and stepped back, and she walked easily upstairs.

She didn't take off her coat or set down her bag, simply perched on the edge of the sofa. She was more or less drenched in rain water, but that fact didn't seem to bother her.

"Hello, Sherlock." She said simply.

Sherlock nodded. "It's been a long time. I was sorry to hear about Mary."

Anna nodded, seemingly lost in thought for a moment.

"Well, I assume you'll want me to get on with it, then?"

Sherlock nodded, and she began.

"You're my next of kin. I was wondering if I could stay with you."

Sherlock shook his head. "Sorry, but no. Too much danger…."

Anna raised her eyebrows at him. "Danger? You're the one who taught me danger is fun."

John had to bite back a snicker at her retort, and Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued.

"No. Mycroft wants you, anyways. You can have anything you want with Mycroft; he's the king of England, after all."

Anna sighed. "Yes, anything I want from him, except my freedom. If all I wanted was fancy clothes and Barbie dolls, that would be wonderful. But I don't. You knew my mother, and you know I'm like her. Give me a place to stay, be free, sort of, roam around, and I'll be completely fine. I'll leave you alone, let you do your experiments, you can even keep me in a closet, for all I care. I just want _freedom_."

"So Mycroft was going to ship you off to an all-girls school, then?"

Anna nodded. "Please, Sherlock, I won't be annoying, I won't talk, we're alike, and you know it. Remember this?" She pulled out a small necklace with a black stone on it.

"All I need is you to sign papers keeping me away from Mycroft, I hate him. I'll live on the streets if I have to, so it's either you're with me or you're not."

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm sorry, Anna, but no."

Anna nodded and stood, shifting her back pack to the other shoulder. "Well alright then, I guess this is it."

"I'll be calling social services." Sherlock said.

Anna smiled slightly. "Really? They couldn't track me here, and I doubt they'll be able to find me after this. You might be able to, though, if you look hard enough."

John had grown alarmed by now.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

Anna shrugged, starting for the door.

"Anywhere but Mycroft's."

John made to grab for her, but she seemed to sense it and bolted down the stairs.

"Don't try, John." Sherlock said, shaking his head.

Just then, there was a gun shot from outside, followed by a gruff voice cursing.

Sherlock moved to grab his gun, but by then there had already been three more shots, and then eerie silence. He raced down the stairs, as did John, to tires squealing down the road.

She was gone.

"What just happened?" John asked.

Sherlock swallowed. "Moriarty has her." He said simply. He bent down on the sidewalk to examine the crimson blood that was on it, as well as a strand of chestnut hair. Her hair, he realized. The fat drops of rain fell and smeared it, washing it all away. Slowly, Sherlock got to his feet, staring down the road. He pulled out his mobile and dialed social services, informing them of the problem, then went inside and sat down, staring at his phone.

"Sherlock?" John asked. "Do you even care!?"

Sherlock seemed relatively undisturbed by his yelling. "She's a hostage now, John." He said solemnly. "Let's hope she's as like me as she said she was."

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**Hello all my readers out there! in case you hadn't noticed, I decided to combine all my stories into one continuous thing, since I've seen fellow authors doing that. thank you so much for all the support you give. please R&R. U guys think it's an okay beginning? Plz let me no, but plz be polite about it, no profanity or anything, just tell me what u do or don't like. Thanks again! :)**


	2. He's Insane

**Chapter 2: He's Insane**

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She hadn't gone willingly, that was for sure. She had the bruises to prove it, as well as two less bullets in her clip. She looked at her Father's semi-automatic pistol lovingly, where it sat, across the room from her. She'd been knocked unconscious by a short man before she'd gotten the guts to kill him. And by then, he'd taken a cloth covered in chloroform and shoved it over her mouth and nose….

She felt dizzy, but tried to focus. Sherlock was probably trying to find her by now, she reasoned, and all she needed to do was figure out where she was. The floor was dirt, and everything smelled like decaying vegetation. She recognized wires to her right, a mess of them, and what looked like a cartridge of something….

The short man smiled as he walked towards her. Her arms and legs were bound, she was gagged. She studied the short man all the same, though. Either he had had one drink too many, or he was insane.

"Hello, Anna." He said, and started speaking. It wasn't anything useful, and she tuned it out. There was something more important here, something she wasn't picking up….

The other things. There were large, burly men in boots, as well as a musty smell, mixed with that of sweat and feces. The men all wore boots and hard hats. And she picked up a trace of decaying vegetation, like the smell of her grandfather's old shed where he made wine….

She was torn out of her thoughts when the man ripped the gag out of her mouth and handed her a cell phone.

"Anna?" She heard Sherlock's voice on the other end.

"Where are you?"

He actually sounded worried- that was odd.

"Sherlock…."

"Where are you?" he asked.

"Sherlock, I…."

"Tell me where you are!' Sherlock demanded, a bit more adamantly.

"She doesn't know." The man interjected.

"Sherlock, they're planting bombs in the sewers…."

The short man looked shocked, and she hurried up keep going as he screamed curses at her.

"I'm at a brewery!" the man grabbed the phone from her grasp and broke it, the rage etched into every line of his face.

Suddenly, he started laughing, so much so her previous theory was proven. He was insane.

"Well done." He said quietly, his voice sticky-sweet and brown eyes seemingly too brown to be real.

"You truly are the niece of the great Sherlock Holmes." He whispered, before he covered her face with the cloth of chloroform and she slipped again into the land of nothingness.

Sherlock shined the flashlight around the first floor of the abandoned brewery. It looked empty, but he smelled faint traces of cologne about the stink of sewer and long gone fermenting wheat.

He carefully stepped into the basement and found footprints in the earthen floor, the imprint of where she'd sat, and that was it.

"She didn't walk in or out of here on her own power." Sherlock said, a bit concerned.

"They used chloroform." John said, sniffing the air.

Sherlock's mobile dinged and he found a text from Lestrade.

**Fifteen bombs disarmed. Who gave you the tip?**

**-Lestrade**

Sherlock sighed. He was too busy now to type up a reply.

"So we're back where we started." He said, as they exited the brewery. "Moriarty gets to make the first move, again."

"Well she seems to be holding up well so far." John pointed out.

Sherlock nodded, but there was still worry in his eyes.

"John, how much chloroform have they used on her?" he asked.

John shrugged. "I can estimate, but I just hope they didn't overdose, or…."

John trailed off. Overdoses of chloroform inhalation could cause death, and Anna was small for her age. Had Moriarty been that careless?

He didn't want to think about it, but he had to admit it was worrisome.

She woke up on a carpeted floor of an office with no furniture in it. There was a window to the right…. She looked down at least twenty stories at the bustling city of London below. She had no idea where she was, and she couldn't pick up any clues from in the room.

She sighed, frustrated, and sat down. She felt achy and tired; probably she was still reeling from the chloroform.

It seemed like there was nothing she could really do but wait.

Sherlock would have to come up with something, besides. But she figured she should at least try to escape. She tried to door- it was locked. There was a grate too small for even her to fit into. The window was suicide, besides that, so she simply sat back and closed her eyes. Something would happen sooner or later.

She wondered if Sherlock really did care about her. Of course he did, she tried to reassure herself, fingering the necklace she wore, along with her father's dog tags and a locket. Sherlock had always been a much better uncle than Mycroft, more fun to be with, more adventurous. He had always been the closer brother to her mum, too.

She wondered about the man, too. He was a smoker, single, insane, rich, and violent, and he liked messing with people's minds, judging by the way he was using her to get to Sherlock. She couldn't ponder anything else, though, her mind was too subdued by the chloroform, and she sighed in boredom. If something didn't happen soon, she'd die, not from injuries, but from pure lack on anything intelligent to do.

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**What do you think? I know the chapter ending was kind of lame, couldn't think of anything else. Thanks for all the views and reviews, please keep R&Ring! If i get lazy and don't update, PM me and I'll get on it.**


	3. Chess

**Chapter 3: Chess**

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Sherlock looked at the text. It was three am, and it was no doubt from Moriarty.

**Park.**

Was all it read. John had fallen into a fitful sleep on the couch, and he instantly knew he'd need John's help.

"John!" he shook his flat mate awake as he pulled on his coat, shoving his pistol into his pocket.

"She's at the park."

"Which park?" John asked, grabbing his gun as well.

"Judging by the facts, Blue Valley Park." Sherlock said, starting down the stairs. John followed him. The walked down the sidewalks, which were deserted, until they reached it. It was really just a square of grass in the huge city, but it had a large fountain in the center. Sherlock saw three figures in the darkness standing beside it. One was on their knees, Anna, he knew, with hands tied behind their back, while he recognized a beefy man to be a guard and Moriarty standing beside them both.

He walked up, trying to hide his urgency.

"Hello, Moriarty." He said simply, trying to deduce things. Most of all, he was looking at Anna. The way she held herself worried him slightly. Was she hurt? He saw blood on her face, as well as bruises forming on her upper arms. There was a gun being held to her head, but there was no fear in her eyes, only urgency.

He noticed her foot tapping the pavement….

_Tap…tap, tap, tap, tap….tap…tap…tap…tap…tap…tap, tap, tap_

It was Morse code. He was surprised she knew it, but he quickly translated it in his head anyways.

-... - - -... meant bomb. There was a bomb, then.

He nodded, barely lifting his chin to let his niece know he understood. She closed her eyes, relieved.

"So, Moriarty, what do you want?" he asked.

Moriarty smiled. "I simply want to enhance the game, Sherlock, and what better way than to kill a pawn?"

Moriarty cocked the pistol that was pressed against Anna's head.

Sherlock moved to grab his own pistol, but Moriarty stopped him with a gesture.

"Ah ah ahh, wouldn't want my finger to slip, now would we?" Moriarty grinned like the Cheshire cat.

"You seem to have quite an attachment to this little girl. Maybe I'm actually taking out someone more important in the chess game. Maybe a rook, or a bishop."

"If you kill her I will draw my gun as soon as you've shot and end you." Sherlock replied coldly.

"No, you really won't." Moriarty assured him. His guard drew a gun and pointed it at John.

Moriarty laughed. "Looks like that's check, then. Have to save the king, can't save the rook as well. Time to end this, then."

Anna hit the ground and rolled to the side, jumping to her feet and kicking the gun from the guard's hands, Moriarty firing off his own gun in shock.

The guard's gun ended up in the fountain with a splash, and Sherlock moved forward to try to flank her.

Moriarty tried to recover and aimed the gun at her.

Anna smiled slightly. "Didn't expect me to move the queen, did you?' she asked.

Moriarty stared.

"I'm still in control. I still have the gun.' He pointed out.

"No, you don't, because you're a coward and they're a bomb in the fountain that will go off any second, and you'll save yourself."

Moriarty's guard moved behind her and she turned, kicking him and swinging her bound hands, slamming his head into the fountain. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.

"So, how much longer do you want to play this game, moving in and out of check? I should have warned you, I've played chess since I was four, and I'm a master."

Moriarty smiled a deranged smile.

"If I can't have my pieces, then you're on my side."

"That's not how the game works." She said simply.

Moriarty nodded. "Yes, it is."

Just then there was a clicking sound as the fountain exploded, and a limo rounded the corner at that exact moment.

The fountain blew everyone off their feet, and Moriarty grabbed Anna, dragging her into the limo behind him.

Sherlock slowly got to his feet, looking at the shards of fountain all around him. He'd blacked out in the explosion for a moment. He helped John to his feet, feeling the weight of what had just happened settle down on him. His niece was still a captive. She could be hurt, as well. He hadn't seen where she was in the explosion, but she could be dead, for all he knew. He didn't know.

That was what was gnawing at him. Never knowing, always being the one to wait for Moriarty to make the first move. It was driving him insane, he realized. He needed to know where she was, needed to know she was alright, to make sure she was safe.

He actually cared, he realized, and he swore to himself he wouldn't let her go out like a pawn in this stupid game.

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**What'd ya think? I know it's kind of a cliff hanger, I wanted to show Sherlock is actually caring about his niece in this one. Trying to figure out how to make Jim appear more insane and John talk more. Plz R&R!**


	4. Beg

**Chapter 4: Beg**

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She woke up on the floor of a building, regretting they'd used chloroform again. It was really starting to get to her, make her nauseous. There was a bright light that hurt her eyes. She moaned and tried to roll away, turning her head to the side and vomiting bile onto the floor. Finally, when all she could do was pant and lay on the floor, she heard footsteps on the concrete. Then whistling, like a man on his way to work, and opened her eyes for a brief moment, then closed them. Moriarty. She'd heard Sherlock call the short man that. And he had a riding crop in his hand.

She closed her eyes and felt it hit her across the face. She had a high pain tolerance. She'd broken numerous bones in her life, fallen off a horse too many times to count, fallen out of trees even more than that, and been caught up in accidents frequently.

She couldn't remember a time as a child when she hadn't taken a bath and seen less than three scrapes, brush burns, or bruises on her legs.

She would take it, and she wouldn't cry out.

She felt the crop hit her face hard, then her chest. Moriarty laughed.

"Time to play." He said warmly, before the crop hit her arm hard. It burned and stung, but she grit her teeth and kept her eyes dry, staring at him. At one point she spit on his shoes, and though it hurt, said, "Is that the best you can do?"

Moriarty's face clouded with rage then, and he struck unrelentingly, hard, blow after blow.

"Beg." He said.

"Never." She replied, though it hurt, and it would all stop if she only begged.

"BEG!" Moriarty ordered, eyes burning with hatred. He was inches from her face, now.

She swore at him and spit on his face. He yelled and kicked her, and she felt the wind knocked out of her. Her breathing was ragged, and he looked at her.

"Beg, sweetheart, and it'll all be over." He said, that sickly-sweet tone back.

"No."

He hit her, hard, beat her until her face was covered in fresh blood, then strode out. She hadn't begged. Hadn't given in. She allowed herself a brief moment of happiness before she blacked out.

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**I know it's annoyingly short, was all I could think of and seemed like a nice place to stop. i know it seems pointless, but it all comes into play next chapter. Thanks again guys! R&R, plz :)**


	5. Her mother's Spirit

**Chapter 5: Her Mother's Spirit**

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Sherlock stared at the video he'd been emailed in shock.

Moriarty, beating the daylights out of his niece. He watched it carefully, watched her not cry out and hold back, take each blow with courage he had never imagined she had.

"Beg." Moriarty insisted.

"Never." She sassed him, eyes cold with hatred.

"BEG!" Moriarty bellowed, hitting harder. She cussed him out; even as she was lying bound up, and took all his blows again.

John was pale as he watched.

"Why doesn't she just beg?' he asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "She definitely is Mary's child. She's got her mother's spirit, I told you."

John nodded. At last, Anna screamed. Then the video ended.

John stared. "So she finally cried out, then?"

Sherlock closed his laptop. "No, she didn't."

"But I just heard…."

"Moriarty edited that in." Sherlock said.

"How can you tell?" John asked, eyebrows raised.

"Because I have never heard Anna scream before. She has cried out, but never screamed. Never. And besides that, the scream was slightly off pitch. So he edited it in to make us think she did. Anyways, that place… I've seen it before…."

John nodded. "Where?" he asked eagerly.

Sherlock shook his head.

"Give me a minute…." He said.

He beamed, suddenly.

"The post office."

"The what?" John asked, shocked.

"There was an old post office on Mill Street…. Forget it, just come on!" Sherlock said, throwing on his coat, John racing out behind him. Sherlock grinned. For once, they'd get to make the first move.

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**Next chapter is a lot of action! It may seem unrealistic a twelve year old girl can actually know all these things and stuff, but she's a Holmes' girl, after all! Mycroft it being pretty much useless during all of this, by the way. R&R, please and thanks!**


	6. Checkmate

**Chapter 6: Checkmate**

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She sighed and looked around. Moriarty was gone, and she was locked in an oversized dog kennel. She had managed to conceal her Swiss army knife in her boot, though, and she pulled it out and started to work on the lock. Within a minute, she was freed, and she crawled out and looked around. She was probably at the old post office she'd seen on the telly once. The door to her room was locked, too, but she managed to remove the door knob.

She slipped into the hall to find Moriarty asleep, hand on her father's automatic pistol. She wasn't going to leave without it, so she carefully slid it away from him. He stirred, and she crept over to the door to find it locked from the outside.

It was then she realized it'd been a set up.

She looked over to see Moriarty's eyes open. He was grinning at her. She aimed her father's pistol at him and used her other hand to try and unlock the door. It didn't work.

Moriarty laughed. "I've been expecting this for hours, girl." He said, standing up. She pulled the trigger and the gun clicked. It wasn't loaded. She wasn't going to panic, though. She didn't do panic. She thought.

Moriarty started towards her. She kicked the door, and Moriarty pulled a gun. She stood her ground and waited for him to shoot. He fired and she ducked, the bullet hitting the door above her and the lock, breaking it. She turned and threw the door open, racing outside.

The Jeep Mycroft had sent to make his "Contribution" to finding Anna pulled up just in time for Sherlock to see Anna pounding down the sidewalk. He was surprised she could still run, but also a bit proud. He saw a figure in black racing after her and turned to John. "Take the wheel." He ordered, getting out and starting after them.

They were racing across a bridge, now, but Anna was actually a good sprinter, and she had a good lead on Moriarty. Just then, a black car skidded to a stop in front of her. She was trapped.

Moriarty was gaining on her, and he watched her climb onto the rail of the bridge, looking both brave and defiant.

He was almost near her now. The gray light of dawn hadn't begun to break, but he saw her silhouette in the moonlight, saw Moriarty aim the gun.

"Any last words?' he asked, panting.

She smiled. "Check mate." She said, and jumped.

"Anna!" he yelled her name, but she'd already disappeared off the side of the bridge.

Moriarty disappeared into the black car and they were gone. John pulled up.

"She jumped." Sherlock said, still shocked. He was mentally doing calculations. It was a great fall, the water had to be freezing, she could freeze to death in the November temperatures….

"Come on, she could still be alive!" John exclaimed, and he obeyed, getting into the jeep and following John's lead to search the river bank. It would be a miracle if his niece hadn't drowned in the water, it was a thirty foot drop, after all, and it was freezing. He still had to hope, though.

She hit the water and felt the shock of the cold freeze her for a second. Which way was up? She broke the surface and treaded water for a minute. She forced herself to think, though her teeth were already chattering.

It was freezing, November, and she'd freeze to death soon if she didn't get out soon. But which river bank? She could have sworn she had seen Sherlock before she jumped.

He'd probably come to find her. She chose a river bank and swam towards it, struggling to keep her head above water. She was barely conscious when her feet hit the muddy bottom and she staggered out of the water, collapsing onto the bank.

He found her on the banks, unmoving.

"John!"

John was there instantly. Her lips were blue, as were the tips of her fingers, and her breath was rasping, but she was alive.

Sherlock wrapped her in his coat and John nodded.

"Okay, she's got strong vitals. I think she's got a cracked rib and she's beat up pretty good, but my main worry now is hypothermia."

Sherlock nodded.

"Anything we can do for her?"

John nodded. "Yes, I want IV fluids in her, but we have to get her to Saint Bart's. It's a miracle she actually got out of there. Must be a strong swimmer."

Sherlock nodded and started for the car, Anna in his arms. He drove while John made sure her vitals were strong.

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**Told you guys there was action in this one:) Don't worry, the next chapter won't be long and fluffy, just a quick conversation between the two Holmes's. R&R! Gracias!**


	7. The Aftermath

**Chapter 7: The Aftermath**

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She sat up, feeling her ribs burn. She gasped in pain and lay back down. She felt pleasantly warm. That was nice….

"Anna?" Sherlock was in the room now, she realized.

"What?' she asked. She felt dizzy, almost omnipresent, sort of.

"You're sick. Drink this."

Sherlock handed her a small cup of medicine she took without complaint.

"I… aren't I supposed to be with Mycroft?" she asked, confused.

Sherlock sighed. "Only if you want to be. But if you stay with me, it'll be dangerous."

Anna grinned. "I don't care. I'll do anything to get away from Mycroft." She broke out coughing, and had to catch her breath.

Sherlock nodded. "But I mean, unknown dangers, you'll constantly be at risk.'

"I'm game." She said. "The only question is, are you." She smiled slightly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I do this for a living, Anna. It's fine if you want to stay with me, I just want you to know the risks. How do you feel?'

She forced a smile. "Good." She lied.

"Judging by your fever of one hundred two, I'm guessing you're either lying or delirious."

She shrugged. "Whatever. I'm fine, really." She broke into another coughing fit, though, and had to catch her breath again.

"Alright?' Sherlock asked.

She nodded.

"Is Mycroft going to be ticked off?"

Sherlock nodded. "Probably."

"Good." she smiled slightly.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile as well.

"Get some sleep."

"Not tired." She retorted.

"Well, you're not getting out of bed until your fever's gone, so you might as well."

Sherlock said, getting up to leave. She nodded feebly and watched him leave.

Sherlock didn't want to leave her, but he knew as long as he was there she'd want to talk and put up the façade she was strong. He could see how exhausted she was in her eyes, though.

"Sherlock?" she asked. He stopped and turned.

"Yes?"

"You don't have to take care of me, you know."

Sherlock nodded. "I don't have to. I want to." He said, before walking out.

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**A bit mushy, or as mushy as Sherlock can really get, so far. She'll start having more dialogue with John soon, though, and get to annoying Mycroft and everyone. R&R! Thanks!**


	8. The Little Freak

**Chapter 8: The Little Freak**

* * *

"Coming, or not?" Sherlock asked. Anna nodded and grabbed her dead father's army coat, as well as her automatic, and started out the door after him, John beside them. Anna looked around carefully, noting the bustling city of London with some hesitation. She was still trying to get used to the constant noise and bright lights of the city. She was from the country, after all. She walked slightly ahead of Sherlock and John, appearing like a fish out of water in her father's old military jacket and work boots.

John leaned closer to him. "Are you sure you should take her to the crime scene? I mean, it's only been a week since she got away from Moriarty." Sherlock shrugged. "She's bored, John. I don't see how this can hurt her. Besides, she likes being outside. And I need to see how good she is at deducing things."

John nodded. "Still, a murder, though? Won't that be a little graphic?"

"She's killed deer before, and squirrels, with her father, hunting. She'd gut the ones she killed. I don't see how this is any different."

Anna had reached the corner now, and she looked back and waited for Sherlock to catch up with her."Which way?" she asked.

"West."

She nodded and turned left. John shot Sherlock an inquisitive look. "The position of the sun. It's afternoon, she can figure it out due to the rising in the east and setting in the west."

John nodded the reached the crime scene tape, and Anna smiled slightly. "Wonderful."Sherlock nodded, strolling up. He ducked under, Anna and John following him as he walked over.

"Hello, Sherlock!" Lestrade greeted them happily. Then his eyes fell on Anna."And who is this?" he asked. Anna looked disgusted at his patronizing tone. "Anna Holmes. Now, where's the body?"

Lestrade shot Sherlock a surprised look, and Sherlock smiled slightly."Lestrade, this is my niece, Anna. She wants to learn the tricks of the trade."Lestrade nodded, but looked uncertain as he led them to the body.

"Woman found stabbed in her car, dead, motor still running, with no trace of anyone around her, but the stab wound wasn't major, no asphyxiation, nothing. You might want to leave your niece behind...""

"It's alright, it can't be worse than gutting a deer." Anna said.

Lestrade nodded. "Definitely your niece, then."

Sherlock took some pride in that, but didn't show it as he carefully peered through the windshield at the body. There was blood on the woman's hands, the seat upholstery, and Anna looked at Sherlock, who nodded. "Look around, tell me what you think."

She obeyed as she let Sherlock examine the body. Two mintues later, he called Anna back to him.

"What do you think?" Sherlock asked.

Donovan marched over. "Look freak, you can't just bring a little girl here, have her stare at a dead lady, and ask her how she died.""

"And why can't I?" Sherlock asked.

"Because,it isn't proper!"

"Is it proper for a woman to be on a forensic team?" Anna asked.

"I... Well..." Donovan stammered.

Anna was ignoring her."Dragon!" she exclaimed, grinning."The dragon tattoo. It looks infected. Could have caused a blood clot and death."

Sherlock nodded, face emotionless. He'd noticed it a few minutes ago. "Alright. Then what?"

Anna shrugged. "She obviously didn't pay for the tattoo herself, she's wearing fifteen dollar tennis shoes, Chapstick, and only rinses her hair each night. Doesn't use any product. By the looks of the tattoo, it's expensive, considering it's large, and so she couldn't have paid for it by herself. But there's something off about it..."She turned to Lestrade. "Get any blood reports back?"

Lestrade shook his head.

"Tell me when you do. She died of a hemorrhagic fever transmitted by the tattoo needles... The stab wound was a cover up. We just need to figure out where she got the tattoo."

Sherlock nodded. "Tell me how she got into the passenger seat of the car, then."

Anna nodded, looking around carefully. "I smell colonge, obviously worn by a female to throw us off since there are traces of mascara on the console and the victim isn't wearing any. The knife was easy to purchase, there would be no records... The driver was probably a supposed friend of hers, taking her home after a night at the bar. Friend, who was really murder, probably knew she'd gotten the infection and was waiting for her to slip into unconsciousness from internal blood loss, and when she did stabbed in the right shoulder to throw us off the cause of death and left. They were wearing gloves and a hairnet, since there are no traces of fingerprints. I'm guessing neighbors found her like this in the morning."

Sherlock nodded, turning to Lestrade. "Well,there you have it. Quite simple, really."

Sherlock turned and started away, John still beside him. Anna easily caught up with them and fell into step as well, and the trip started back to 221. Sherlock didn't acknowledge Anna's deductions, and John was too stunned by the girl's skill to speak for a few minutes.

Finally, they started back upstairs."So, that's it, then?" John asked. Anna gave him a look like he was insane."Are you kidding, John? This is just the beginning." she coughed, and John looked at the clock."it's past two." he noted, looking worriedly at Anna. "You missed your medicine."Anna shrugged, waving him off. "I'm fine, John."

"No, you're not, now sit down while I get your medicine ready."Anna sighed but obeyed, and Sherlock, as if in a trance, opened up his laptop and began typing furiously. Anna looked like she wanted nothing more than to join him, but didn't disobey John.

"Take a puff and hold it in your mouth for three seconds." John ordered, handing her an inhaler. She rolled her eyes but obeyed.

"Better now?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I'm fine."

"Don't push it, you're still recovering, Phnemonia is serious."

Anna shrugged. "I've dealt with worse." she said, moving to sit beside Sherlock and watching what he was doing. Sherlock still didn't acknowledge her, but she didn't bother him. Only sat in silence and watched.

"Where do you think she got the tattoo, then?" John asked. Neither of them answered, and Anna noticed Sherlock's mobile on the table and stared searching the web on it. Sherlock was too engrossed in his search to notice. A moment later, Anna grinned. "Got it." she said, handing him the phone.

Sherlock looked at it. "It's just the image." he said. "A picture of the same tattoo. Useless."He set the phone back on the coffee table.

"It's the Tattoo, still. Didn't you notice? The dragon is made up of Chinese symbols."

Sherlock turned back to the mobile and smiled. "So it is. It could lead us to something." Still, he didn't compliment his niece, only turned back to the screen and started a translation. Anna clicked on an image, which led her to a Facebook page.

"It says they got the tattoo at Drunken Flame Tattoo parlor." She said, finding it "In the west end of London. The ghetto."

Sherlock nodded. "Let's go, then, see what we can find."Anna nodded, eagerly following him to the out the door. John scrambled to get on his coat and follow them."You two aren't going to tell Lestrade you found th place, are you?"

"No." they both said in unison, taking the tube to the west end. John rolled his eyes, realizing these two were both reckless. Mintues later they were in the West end, at the poorer side of town.

Graffiti covered the brick walls of a building in front of them, whose crooked sign boasted of cheap tattoos. They entered to find the place deserted.

Lights still on, the long vines of dying plants like withering arms, reaching out, yellowing and crying for waer.

Outside the screen door into the side alley there was a flash of movement, and Anna burst out the door after it, tackling a figure to the ground. Sherlock and John rushed out after her, to find the figure on the ground breathing heavily. Anna let her up and the figure shakily stood, to reveal a woman whose arms were covered in tattoos,with several piercings on her face and lips, and bright pink hair.

"Sorry, I thought you guys were my ex." she said quietly, brushing herself off.

"Did you see two girls come in here a few days ago to get a tattoo, one of them getting a dragon tattoo?" Anna asked.

The woman's eyes were wide suddenly, revealing she was a bit nervous.

"Who wants to know?" she asked.

"That girl was my sister." Anna lied. "We need her home. They're's been a family issue."John was shocked by her tact as woman nodded.

"Yeah, she got a dragon tattoo. Her friend paid for it though, in cash. They were both pretty stoned. That's all I know, kid."

"Really? Because I heard she's sick. Her tattoo doesn't seem to look so good, like it's infected. Any idea how it happened?"

"No, no idea. Now get out of here, kid."

"Mind if we look around?" Anna asked.

"Get out." the woman said coldly, slamming screen door. They started down the alley, and Anna trotted behind until she was back on the sidewalk with Sherlock.

"Well, that was helpful." John sad sarcastically.

"Yes, it was." Anna said absently, not noticing his sarcasm. She turned to Sherlock. "That woman. She's hiding something. Her needles were tainted, but she could have just been hiding the fact her needles weren't clean. But it seems like, with the knife in the shoulder of the victim, it's more than that..."

Sherlock nodded. Just then his mobile dinged. It was in Anna's pocket, and she picked it up."It's from Mycroft." she said disdainfully.

"Delete it." Sherlock said instantly.

"His secretary was murdered, though."

Sherlock suddenly looked interested. "Where?"

"In the Norfolk Park, wherever that is."

Sherlock nodded. "let's go, then."

"Hello, Anna. I see you're still wild." Mycroft commented as they arrived.

"Shut up, Mycroft." she said bitterly. Mycroft had been upset when she'd decided to live with Sherlock instead. Sherlock knelt in front of the body. It was a figure lying in front of the gazebo. She turned to Sherlock and nodded. Sherlock gave her a look, then turned to Mycroft.

"I'll look at it in the lab." he said.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "Oh. Are you stumped for once, dear brother?"

"No, I just can't think with you here, looking so apprehensive." Sherlock said, turning.

"Have you been taking good care of it?"

"I have a name, you know." Anna said hotly. Sherlock placed a hand on her shoulder and she stepped back, away from Mycroft.

"Anna, why would you choose to be with him? You could have gone to boarding school. You had such a bright future..." Mycroft started.

"Yes, being in a stupid dormitory with idiot girls who giggled too much and always being the odd one out. I never wanted that." Anna said sourly.

"Well Sherlock almost got you killed." Mycroft retorted.

"He did not! That was Moriarty! And it wasn't his fault, I was on my own when I was kidnapped! And Sherlock is a bloody better uncle than you!"

"Anna." Sherlock said, and nodded coolly to Mycroft and they started towards the cab John had called.

They arrived at Saint Bat's a minute later. Sherlock took one look at his niece's pale face as he entered the lab. "Go back to the flat and rest."

"But I'm fine, Sherlock." she protested.

"Go, or I won't let you come on the next case."She signed but obeyed, starting down the two blocks back towards the flat. She almost instantly fell asleep once she was in bed.

Sherlock studied the body of Mycroft's assistant. She drank decaf coffee, was single, had red hair, blue eyes, and a civilized look about her. He couldn't place it, but something was off. He sat down and started running tests.

Anna woke suddenly to the sound of a footfalls on the stairs. They weren't Sherlock's light ones or John's careless ones, either, and Mrs. Hudson was away. She remembered she'd locked the door but grabbed her automatic anyways, heart beating a little faster. She crept slowly into the living room and kitchen, facing the door. The lock clicked and the door popped open.

* * *

**Cliff hanger! Don't worry, next chapter is posted! Thanks again!**


	9. The Graffiti Game

**Chapter 9: The Graffiti Game**

* * *

"Freeze." She ordered. There was a man facing her, about John's height, but taller, in black. He looked like he'd come from a funeral. He dove towards her, knocking the gun from her hand, and she pulled her pocket knife out and kicked him. He fell back against the wall and pulled his own gun. "Drop it." he ordered.

She kicked the gun from his hand and gave him a good punch in the face, feeling his hand strike her as she staggered down the stairs and burst outside. She pounded down the sidewalk, ducking into an alleyway. She hadn't had time to explore the alleys yet, but she remembered were the lab was and ducked through the complex alley ways, hearing feet pounding behind her.

She sprinted away, though, and soon the sounds faded as she disappeared into the doorway of Saint Bart's. She easily strode into the lab, peering over Sherlock's shoulder. He turned and looked at her.

"What happened? " he asked. She realized her hair must look like a mess, and she had a bloody nose."I'm sorry." she said timidly. Should she tell him?

"Sorry about what?" Sherlock asked, brushing the hair from her face.

"I had to run..."

"Here." Sherlock handed her a Kleenex for her bloody nose and waited for her to continue."I... Some lunatic broke into the lat, and I had to run."Sherlock nodded and stood. "I take it he's still there then?"

"No, he tried to follow me, but I lost him in the back alleys."

"How did you find your way here?"

She shrugged. "Luck and a photographic memory."John entered and took one look at her face. He swore. "What happened?"

"Nothing, just had a run in with an idiot." Anna said simply, turning to Sherlock. "I have an idea about this one though. Can I see the body?"Sherlock nodded and led her into the room. She carefully turned the woman over and rolled up her shirt.

There, on her back, was another infected tattoo with Chinese symbols."We should tell Lestrade." John said simply. Anna nodded.

"How did you know?" Sherlock asked.

Anna shrugged. "Well, she seemed very high class and well kept, she is Mycroft's secretary, after all, she had to look professional, and I figured she might have to have a tattoo in a place where no one could see it. So, on her back. The only time it would be visible is if she wore a bikini."

Sherlock nodded. "Nice work."

John still looked concerned. "Are you sure your alright?" he asked her. Anna nodded. Just then Sherlock's mobile beeped. "It's from Lestrade. They have another one." he announced.

"Wow. This tattoo parlor must be pretty busy."

Sherlock nodded. "It's not anyone else, though. They finally found the tattoo parlor, but the woman who runs it is missing."

Anna nodded. "Searching for her, then?"

"Yes, the could use a hand. We're supposed to help search in the alleys around it."

Anna nodded. "Sounds like fun."

She said shined her flashlight down the dark alleys. It was a rainy day, and the overcast sky didn't provide much light. She was still fascinated by the Graffiti, though. The only time she'd seen it on the Yorkshire dales had been on train cars as they'd flashed by. She'd read John's blog when she arrived about how they'd found the cipher by checking Graffiti.

It was like a museum on a building, so full of art. She noticed an old building with broken windows and looked inside. It appeared dark. She took a step inside and found there was Graffiti inside here, as well. She shined her flashlight around, amazed. It was like an entire house of murals.

She saw something move out of the corner of her eye, but she didn't have a gun, and her knife was instantly knocked out of her hand. Then she was on the ground, and felt herself being struck over and over, until finally there were running feet, and all she could do was lie on the floor, gasping for breath.

She pulled out her mobile and called the one person she needed now more than ever. Sherlock. He picked up on the first ring. She spit blood onto the floor and gasped, her breath rasping.

"Anna? Anna? Are you there?"

She was wracked by coughing. It was cold here, so cold.

"Don't hang up." He ordered.

Everything hurt, and she stared at the Graffiti on the wall. There was fresh paint, black paint, still wet and dripping down the wall. Again, the symbols. She stared at them. Everything was blurry through the haze of pain, but suddenly old text books she'd read in boredom flashed through her mind. She knew what the symbols meant, suddenly, and she gasped. She was loosing consciousness, but she feared she'd forgot the meaning. She couldn't forget the meaning of it. She whispered it over and over, her eyes closing, shaking as she gasped for breath.

She swore she heard people talking, but then she blacked out.

* * *

**Can't really think of what to write here... My inbox is now a suggestion box, though! PM me suggestions! Most of the stories are already written, but i might incorporate them into later chapters!**


	10. Blood is Thicker than Water

**Chapter 10: Blood is Thicker than Water**

* * *

He tracked her mobile signal to find Lestrade had already happened upon her by chance.

Lestrade looked worried, but he looked at her and deduced she;d live, and then turned. She'd kept whispering into the phone over and voer again….

Sherlock nodded to no one in particular, kneeling beside the unconscious form of his niece. John had already started to work on patching her up.

"Any idea who did it?

Lestrade shook his head. "No, whoever it was was long gone by the time we found her. She didn't listen to us, wouldn't respond when we talked. She just kept saying blood is thicker than water."

"Well it is, isn't it?" John asked. "Maybe she was just stating a fact."

Sherlock shook his head, looking down at his niece in wonder. "No, she wasn't, she was trying to tell us something..."He pulled out his mobile and started searching.

"You don't even care she's beaten up, do you?" Donovan asked.

Sherlock said nothing to her insult and simply kept searching. She wasn't hurt that badly, anyways….

Anna groaned and her eyes fluttered open."Can you hear me?" John asked.

She staggered to her feet suddenly."Sherlock! Blood is thicker than water!" she staggering over to the wall, which was covered with graffiti.

"She's insane." Donovan muttered.

"No..." she panted. "It's Chinese... It's here..." she found it and pointed. "Blood is thicker than water! That's what it means!"

Sherlock nodded, coming beside her to examine it.

"That's it..."

"What relevance does this have to the situation?" Anderson turned to him.

"The paint is still wet, whoever came here painted it, and Anna must have found them..."He turned to Anna. "Why didn't you shoot them?"

"The man knocked my gun away at the flat."

Sherlock nodded."Alright, it's a lead, anyways, we just have to figure out the relevance and why this person attacked you..."

"Because they were the murder. They must have thought I was armed. The woman from the tattoo parlor must have warned them, whoever it was who hired her to taint the needles, and they're the murderer, then. Or at least they're responsible for it."

Anna was already on her mobile, searching the other tattoos. "Yes! The other tattoos... Victory or death, hope is lost."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Lestrade asked.

Anna shrugged. "No idea, but it's got a connection somewhere, all these murders were linked. And there's some connection between all the victims, something about it that's key. The tattoo artist. Any records of her leaving London?" Lestrade shook his head.

"She's disappeared though."

"She's dead."

"Then where's the body?" Anderson challenged.

"The body is hidden. But it's also the key. We just have to figure out the link... We should get Anna home." Sherlock said suddenly.

"What? I'm fine, Sherlock."

"You have a few cracked ribs and a broken nose, don't tell me your fine."

Anna suddenly caught on, spitting some blood onto the floor. "Whatever..." she muttered, leaning against the wall.

Lestrade suddenly looked concerned, and Sherlock strode over and picked her up."See you, then." He said, Anna closed her eyes.

They left and called a cab, and as soon as they'd pulled away, Anna opened her eyes.

"Can I stop now?" she asked.

Sherlock nodded. "Good acting, by the way."

"Thanks." Anna slid off his lap to sit beside him.

John stared. "Wait, that was all an act?" he asked.

"Duh. We needed an excuse to get out of there. Scotland yard is obviously out of there league. We can find the link, though. And since everyone is a sap for a little girl with a bloody nose, I was the best excuse."

"You have three cracked ribs and a broken nose." John pointed out.

She shrugged. "Whatever. We still have to find the link, though. And don't think I'm opting out of this case just because I got punched."

"I don't." Sherlock said.

"And by the way, how did you find me?" Anna asked.

Sherlock shrugged. "Your boot prints led us to the warehouse. Do you remember who it was that hurt you?"

Anna shook her head "Sorry, but no. I just remember getting hit a lot, someone running away, and then remembering what the symbols meant."

Sherlock nodded. "That's alright, then. The person will slip up soon, I'm sure."

Anna nodded as they exited the cab and raced up to 221B."When did she get so energetic?" John asked.

Sherlock shrugged. "Since she found a major lead?" she was already on her laptop, googling the name of the first dead victim.

Edith Maro. Single, librarian, knitter, thirty one years old. "She runs a page called the Vanity Group..." Anna muttered. She quickly went to the page. "A book club, boring..." Just then she noticed the picture of the other members. The same as the dead secretary.

"I found it!" she muttered, rushing over to Sherlock and wincing as her ribs ached. Sherlock nodded his approval. "Good. So they were all in a book club."

"I don't think it's a book club." Anna said simply. "Either that, or someone took the term poison pen way too literally."

Sherlock nodded and looked at the page. "They meet every Wednesday night. That's tonight. At the library."

Anna nodded. "So do we go, then?"

Sherlock shook his head. "John and I will go. You stay here."

"Why?"

"Because it could just be a regular book club." Sherlock said. "And if it is, then I don't want you reading that book. It's very boring. And if it is boring, you'll no doubt do something that gets us a law suit."

Anna fell silent.

He checked the clock. It was around four. Today had been a busy day."We have to go, right, John?" John nodded, and they hurried out, leaving her behind.

* * *

**Anna's character here gets more in tune with Sherlock. remarkably, he's the one person she has to work at to figure out what he's thinking, and he gives her advice, since he can read her like a book. Everyone else is clueless as to get into her mind, except Sherlock.**


	11. Wrong Person

**Chapter 11: Wrong Person**

* * *

Anna sighed. She was left behind, again. And just when they'd found the link. Suddenly, she had an idea, and she found her gun on the floor and shoved it in her coat pocket, flying out the door and taking the tube back to the west end of London.

She raced into the tattoo parlor, which was closed, breaking the lock and hurrying up the first floor to the secound, to a small, grubby flat. She found the book there, the one they'd been reading in the book club.

It had been the third book. She stared at the third letter of each word, scrawling it down on a piece of paper.T...h...e.. The. D...r...o...p...o...f...f... The drop off. She worked furiously, realizing this was it. This was everything. She stared at the pages.

She was so engrossed in decoding, she didn't notice when someone stepped into the flat, or when the opened up a large enclosed tank, releasing a pet python into the room. She also didn't notice when the person slipped back downstairs, and the snake slithered towards her, tongue flickering out.

Drop off is station nineteen. She stared at it. Station nineteen. It was probably a tube station...

A that moment, she realized something was beside her on the bed...It lunged and wrapped itself around her, and she stared down at the body of a large snake, a python, wrapping around her. Was she hallucinating?She felt it squeeze her ribs and knew she wasn't as hot pain flashed through her.

Pythons killed by squeezing, she'd suffocate soon, and if she shot the thing, which was wrapped around her, she'd shoot herself...She was already gasping for breath, but one arm was free. She found her knife in her pocket. He vision was graying around the edges...She slashed at the massive body of the snake, feeling it's grip lesson.

The snake still squeezed, though, and she stabbed it, plunging in her blade in twice more until she found the head. The mouth lunged for her face, still trying to kill her, but she jammed her free arm up to block and severed the head, and the snake fell to the ground, writhing around, ntil it lay still.

She slowly pried the head, which still had a death grip on her arm, off, and inspected the wound carefully. It wasn't in anywhere vital, but it was deep. Pythons weren't venomous, though...

She turned around and peered out the window. There was a figure hiding in the alcove of the doorway across the road, who was trying to kill her, no doubt. She took a breath, still clutching the book in hand. She had to get to station nineteen. She quickly decoded a few more words. Six. At six, she had to be there in fifteen mintues. She turned to the back window, finding a rusted fire escape as her exit. She climbed into the back alley and raced for the entrancto the tube. She was going to station nineteen.

"Cornelia couldn't be here. She had to go out campaigning." a woman said. Sherlock and John both held there copies of Disaster in the Dawn, the book they were reading, sitting awkwardly at the book club. It was ackward since they were just reading and discussing, and that they were the only men in the group. It was made even more so by the fact that everyone thought they were a couple.

The meeting ended at five firty five, and Sherlock and John both hurried down the steps of the library, not wanting to be seen.

"Well, the was absolutely pointless." John fumed.

"Agreed." Sherlock said, then his mobile dinged.

**Found something important. Anyone who wasn't there at the meeting?- AH**

**Yes. Cornelia something or other. She was out campaigning or something. Why? -SH**

**Tube station nineteen. -AH**

Sherlock stared at th text for a moment, then went to the tube station.

She was still sitting with her copy of Diaster in the Dawn, feverishly underlining every third letter. She was on chapter sixteen, the final chapter. They were on chapter fifteen in the club...

She stared at it as she read the message. Engineer... Accident... Committee meeting... There had been a point at which time where the news in each chapter went to gibberish, she encoded the two pages and read it all again.

Engineer accident committee meeting, Nov thirtith. We control and win.

Just then, her wrist watch beeped. It was six. Two woman met, and one handed the other an envelope. She smelled something strong, and a bit of white dust fell onto the subway platform. Heroine. They where trafficking drugs to get money for some political person. What had Sherlock said about Cornelia? They'd said she was out campaigning. Today was the thirtieth of November. Something was going to happen at a parliament committee meeting. All the pieces were coming together.

She looked down, there was another Chinese symbol at her feet. She googled it. It meant nothing, but it was similar to the Chinese symbol love.

She googled members of parliament next, on her mobile, coming up with two women with the last name Cornelia.

Mycroft was at an informal meeting with about twenty five other members of parliament at a well known hotel in London, and she ran towards it, racing up the stairs. She'd googled pictures of both women and knew who she was looking for. She carefully edged through the open door and cocked her gun.

"Cornelia." she said, seeing the woman and stepping towards her, gun trained on her. Instantly, everyone fell silent.

"Anna, what are you doing?" Mycroft asked, shocked.

"You don't speak Chinese well, do you, Cornelia?" she asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about." the woman responded.

"The last symbol you left. It was meant to say love. But it didn't. Because you don't speak Chinese."

"But I do." said the woman, looking confused.

"What's your degree, then?" Anna asked, equally confused.

"Masters. My langue was Chinese."

Anna stared. "You are Beatrice Cornelia, right?"

The woman shook her head. "I'm Amber."

Anna stared. Of course, there were two woman with the last name Cornelia.

"Oh, wrong person. Sorry about that." Anna said, turing to run out after lowering her gun.

"Anna!" Mycroft bellowed

"Not now uncle, busy saving the population!" she replied, racing down the stairs.

* * *

**I love this part here, where she accidentally almost kills the wrong person. Tell me what you guys think. i think she drives mycroft Insane. Please R&R. thanks!**


	12. Extremists and Escapes

**Chapter 12: Extremists and Escapes**

* * *

Sherlock had texted Lestrade to meet him at tube station nineteen, and was watching four women from the book club being handcuffed for drug trafficking. He couldn't help but feel he was missing something... he received a call from Mycroft then.

"Anna just pulled a gun on a representative in parliament!" he roared.

"What? Did she shoot?"

"No. She asked them if they spoke Chinese, looked confused, then said she had the wrong person and ran out."

"What was there name?"

"Amber Cornelia."

"Of course." Sherlock hung up. He turned to John. "We're missing something, it had to do with the book club, though, I'm sure of it."

John found Anna's copy of Disaster in the Dawn on the ground and started reading the underlined letters.

* * *

Blood is thicker than water. Victory or death. Hope is lost. The mis-written sign was meant to say love, but it didn't. It meant nothing. Anna thought carefully as she ran. Hotel security would be after her any mintue now, as well as parliament security...

Another place. There had to be another place to find Cornelia. She was probably planning to blow up the gathering right then and there.

She raced into the hotel was a garden leading to the river Thames! Hoping to buy herself some time.

Of course. Cornelia had said they controlled. The bomb must have had a remote to it. And Cornelia was safely outside in the garden. Anna saw a crumpled form on the ground and knelt down. It was the woman from the tattoo parlor. There as a fresh, blood-covered tattoo on her arm that read a new Chinese symbol. She quickly searched it. "I am death." she said, staring.

"I am."

Anna whirled to see Beatrice Cornelia staring at her, the glint of a gun barrel pointed at her in the night.

"Lovely. But finding a dead girl in the garden will around suspicion."

"So will bombing a diplomatic meeting." Beatrice pointed out. "But that won't stop me."

"You're incredibly radical politician, I must say, if you want to blow up all your adversaries."She quietly revealed her own gun, which she pointed at Beatrice.

Beatrice swung at her and she ducked, managing to kick the gun away from her. It landed with a splash in the Thames. Beatrice slapped Anna's gun from her hand and pulled out a knife.

Anna stepped backwards, and by the time Beatrice had lunged at her, had flipped out her own knife though.

Her own blade met Beatrice's.

"You're in over your head girl." Beatrice said, her knife slicing across Anna's cheek.

"I'm doing just fine, actually." Anna retorted.

"So overconfident. It will be your downfall someday."

"My only downfall is gravity." she retorted, kicking Beatrice back and standing with her knife ready for another blow.

* * *

He pulled out his mobile as he raced through the street, John beside him.

**There's a bomb in th meeting room. It's being controlled from the outside. Get out. -SH**

Mycroft stared at his text, unable to belive it for a mintue, until another text came.

**Now. -SH **

"Everyone outside, now." he said calmly, leading the procession out. Sherlock raced up just as the squad cars did.

"Mycroft, have you seen Anna?"Mycroft shook his head.

"She ran out, said she had the wrong person..."

Sherlock opened the book. The main character had been named Rose... Garden. She was in the garden.

"John, let's go." he said, racing towards the garden behind the hotel.

She'd ducked to the side when Beatrice threw the knife, but it had still grazed her arm. She had the bomb remote, but wasn't sure she could defuse it, or if she'd live long enough to. She found the transmitter and ripped it out, feeling Beatrice grab her.

"Give it to me!"

"Never!" she wasn't sure if she'd defused it correctly or not. She kicked Beatrice in the shin and she fell, dragging Anna with her, rolling until they were on the very banks of the roaring river Thames.

"Freeze!" Anna found John's gun pointed in her general direction and gave a sigh of relief.

Finally, she would have some help. Beatrice laughed and got to her feet. Beatrice had the remote in her hand, Anna realized.

"Game over." Beatrice said, pressing the button. Nothing happened.

Anna gave a sigh of relief."It's over, Beatrice." she said hoarsely, getting to her feet.

"No..." Beatrice shook her head, shocked. "No!" tears streamed down her face.

"Give up, Beatrice, and it'll be easier."

Beatrice swung at her but she blocked the punch, looking at her. "Stop. It's pointless trying to prevent the inevitable."

Beatrice stared, then laughed. "You're right, girl. It is. But you go with me."

"Let her go." Sherlock said firmly.

"NO!" Beatrice screamed, grabbing Anna and dragging her with her as she jumped into the Thames.

* * *

**Beatrice is really Messed up. I'm trying to get past writers block now, on what I should ahve ehr do,. Playing with the idea of her having a first kiss, wondering how to show a little romance without too much stuff. Thanks for reading guys! don;t worry, more is to come.**


	13. Freezing Water

**Chapter 13: Freezing Water**

* * *

"Anna!" Sherlock stared over the banks into the blackess of the night, hoping.

"You don't think the current..." John started.

Sherlock shook his head. "No. She can swim."

John nodded, but he was still doubtful Anna had survived.

Then he heard the horse voice.

She'd hit the water and felt how freezing it was, having a flashback to the week ago when she'd jumped off a bridge to spare herself a bullet.

Beatrice's grip on her was gone, and she threaded water, fighting the current. She'd drifted a bit downstream, but she staggered onto the banks, dripping water and filthy. She had to find Shrlock now, was all.

"Sherlock?" she called.

"Anna!" Sherlock rushed towards the found of her voice, finding her dripping wet and shivering violently. He placed his coat over her shoulders."Are you Alright" John asked.

She nodded, trying to say something between her chattering teeth.

"Pardon?" John asked.

"I said, why do I always get pushed into freezing water?" Anna said.

Sherlock laughed out loud. "Good to have you back." he said quietly.

The hotel had been evacuated as the bomb squad worked, and as they ducked under the police barricades to exit the place, Mycroft looked stern, walking over to them.

His expression chanced to one of concern when he saw Anna, wrapped in Sherlock's coat, still dripping wet.

"What have you influenced our niece to do now, Sherlock?" he asked, annoyed.

"Nothing. We just solved three murders and saved your life, so shut up and your welcome. As for what happened, read about it tomorrow like the rest of the population, on John's blog." Anna said, taking Sherlock's wrist and leading them all over to the tube entrance. On the tube ride home, she was quiet, and as soon as they reached 221 B she disappeared into her room, changing into dry clothes and re-emerging to curl up on the sofa a few mintues later. As soon as she was asleep, Sherlock chuckled, throwing a blanket over her.

"What?" John asked, genuinely confused.

"Nothing. She just gets cheeky when she's tired, just like her mum. Mary would always tell of Mycroft like that when she was exhausted."

John nodded. It must have been some comfort to Sherlock to realize his niece was similar to his dead sister. Sherlock gave his niece one last look before turning and retiring to his room himself.

* * *

**Still trying to figure out the first kiss thing. Oh well, that won;t come along for a long time, anyways.**


	14. Goes Deeper

**Chapter 14: Goes Deeper**

* * *

She woke up to find she was a bit cold, but there was a blanket over her. She would've sworn John had done it, but she smelled traces of Sherlock's colonge. It had probably come from his bed.

She lifted her head from where she'd curled up against the arm of the couch and blinked sleepily.

"Morning." John said, handing her a cup of tea. She nodded and accepted it, looking at Sherlock. "How was last night?"

"Good, accept you pulled a gun on an innocent member of parliament."

"It was an honest mistake!" she said defensively. "Besides, I'm sure Mycroft has taken care of the legal issues."

Sherlock nodded. "Still, it was a rookie mistake! Even if it was an accident."

"Really. I seem to remember you starting mum's dining room table on fire due to a simple mistake." Anna said.

"That was because a certain little girl was distracting me." Sherlock said.

"Was not. I was just standing still behind you, watching."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I seem to remember you asking a million questions about hydrogen, actually." he said.

Anna suddenly turned serious. "What happened to Beatrice?" she asked.

"Dead. She drowned at night." he said, handing her a newspaper. "We made front page, though." Anna nodded, looking at the headline.

"They don't even know my name." She said, sipping her tea.

"I've already fixed ut. Inposted about you on my blog this morning." John assured her. Anna nodded.

Finally, she spoke again. "I have a feeling this goes deeper than a parliament representative trafficking drugs for her own gain." she said quietly.

Sherlock nodded. "So do I. But we have to wait for more pieces of the puzzle to unfold. This doesn't seem like Moriarty."

Anna nodded. "It does seem too petty for his style. But who is it, then?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I have no idea. Like I said, wait for the puzzle pieces to come. Until then, you can work on homeschooling. I want you in the ninth grade by Christmas."

Anna nodded and accepted the book he handed to her, then settled down to reading.

John interrupted her. "I want to examine you, actually, to make sure you're alright. You did fall into a freezing river last night, afterall."

Anna looked surprised. "I'm fine, John." she said.

John rolled his eyes. "You had a touch of Phnemonia before you fell into the river, I can't imagine what it's like now."

Anna shrugged. "Whatever. I feel fine."

She continued reading while John took her pulse and listened to her breathing.

"I don't believe it. You're no worse off than before!" he burst out.

"I told you so. I wasn't in the water that long, anyways. I swam out after a few moments." she said. She continued reading, leaving John to stare at her in stunned silence.

He turned to Sherlock. "Seriously, did you know she was unbreakable?"

Sherlock just smiled.

* * *

**Like I said, she starts to bicker and banter more with John now. it really takes off in a few chapters, though. And you meet another member of the holmes family, through letters.**


	15. Pyschotic Stranger

**Chapter 15: Pyschotic Stranger**

* * *

Miles away, a man sat in a dark room, in a plush leather office chair, hands folded. The door swung open to his office, casting in the rectangle of light.

"Any news, Frank?"

The aid looked nervous. "Yes, sir... He's solved the case, figured out Beatrice."

The man chuckled. "Has he now?" he asked. "Just like I expected."

"But there's more, sir. He's got a little girl with him."

The aid handed him a newspaper, which he took and stared at. The headline showed Sherlock, along with his flat mate and a little girl, sopping wet, wrapped in his coat.

"Who is she?" he asked.

"His niece, sir."

The man began to laugh. The aid looked uncomfortable.

"Do you need anything, sir?" he asked.

The man shook his head "Leave me." he said, imbetween his deranged laughing. When the aid was gone and the room was dark again, he finally caught his breath.

"Oh, they're's another Holmes. The game has grown much more interesting."

* * *

**Woah! It;s that creepy guy in this incredibly short chapter! Who is he? Mwhaaahahaha!**


	16. Not Going Unless it's Bloody

**Chapter 16: Not Going Unless it's Bloody**

* * *

There was a knock at the door, and Anna got up to get it, John casting her a glance.

"Little girls shouldn't answer the door." He said.

"Really, when did you become so sexist, John?' she asked, turning to look at him. The doorbell continued ringing.

"Since you almost got yourself killed. Besides, we have criminals coming to our door on a regular basis."

"I know. I need to make friends, you said. What better people than strangers?"

"That doesn't make any sense." John said, and Anna grinned and opened the door.

There was a woman in her early twenties, clutching the copy of a newspaper from a week ago and a folder of files.

"Are you Anna Holmes? We have a case for you." The woman said quietly.

Anna shook her head. "I am. But you'll have to talk to my uncle. Sherlock!" she yelled down the hall, and Sherlock emerged a moment later.

"Yes?"

"Possible case." Anna said, allowing the woman in.

She perched on the edge of the couch and Sherlock tried to hide his joy and began plucking at the strings of it.

"What kind of case?"

"A disappearance."

"Alright, who disappeared?"

"My sister."

"Possible suspects?"

The woman shook her head. "I have no idea. We haven't seen each other since she went off to college, and things have been so busy planning the wedding, we didn't know where she was."

"So, she disappeared before your wedding, then?" j9ohn asked.

Anna looked bored.

"Call me back out when there's mention of blood." She said simply.

The woman looked shocked, but Sherlock nodded and she disappeared into her room.

"Alright, so she just disappeared."

"Yes. Left her apartment, they said she didn't show up for work that morning, and she never came back. They found her phone a few miles away…."

Sherlock nodded.

"I'm afraid I can't pay you much, with the wedding and all…."

"I don't really care about that. Mind if I see her apartment?"

The woman shook her head. "No, not at all. The police already went through it, didn't find anything."

"That's fine." Sherlock said. "Anna, are you coming?" he yelled down the hall.

"No thanks. Sounds boring. If you find her body, then call me. Then I'll help."

The woman paled, and john gave her an apologetic smile. "Sorry. She really prefers murder cases, is all…."

"I can see that.' The woman said.

They walked carefully out and hailed a cab. Sherlock was too busy deducing to talk, and John tried to make conversation.

"So, when's the wedding?" he asked.

The woman smiled slightly "Next week."

"I have no doubt your fiancé is wonderful, to have someone like you marrying him." John said.

The woman smiled, her eyes seeming to brighten. "Yes. Andrew is wonderful…."

The cab swerved to avoid another car and the cabbie swore.

The bride-to-be cast a shy glance and John and they stopped on Farthing Street. They paid the cabbie and got out.

"So, this is it, then?" John asked. The woman nodded. "My name's Valorie, by the way. Her flat is on the second floor."

They wordlessly followed her up. The flat was relatively modern, with expensive tastes, and every now and then a note written on a post-it note or on any random scrap of paper. The walls were pure white, and in the next room the bed wasn't made, the alarm clock was still on, everything seemed perfectly in order. There was almost nothing that would suggest the occupant had disappeared.

Sherlock was looking around, thoughts racing through his mind.

_Wears perfume, well off, accountant, five three, dyed her hair blonde, no boyfriend, no pets, nothing, knits for a hobby, watches doctor who every Friday night, eats Chinese frequently…._

He sighed. It was almost as if she had left on her own.

"Was she supposed to do anything in the wedding?' Sherlock asked.

Valorie nodded. "Yes, she was, actually. She was going to be my maid of honor."

Sherlock nodded "Was she afraid too or something?"

"No, she would never pretend to disappear! Besides, she always was great at public speaking and stuff. I'm certain something happened to her."

"She was an accountant. Who was she working for? Obviously someone well-to-do, since her wardrobe is all classy things, and she looks well off. Wait. Financial firm, right?"

Victoria nodded. "How…?"

"Don't bother." John said, and Sherlock kept looking around.

"It could have been random, I suppose, she looks attractive... Males might want her….."

Valorie paled, and John shot Sherlock a look telling him to stop. Sherlock turned back to the room.

"There has to be a motive, but it's unlikely she was taken on her way to work…. She worked at Barker and Stone financial, correct?"

Valorie nodded. "Yes, she did, actually."

Sherlock was already out the door.

John turned to Valorie. "Sorry. He's got to go check out some files. Mind if I escort you back home?"

Valorie shook her head. "No, it's alright; I have a dress fitting anyways…. I'll just take a cab."

John nodded and closed the door behind them as they left the flat.

"I hope things start looking up for you soon, Ms... Try not to let it get you down too much. Sherlock's the best, trust me…. Besides, weddings are happy times."

Valorie nodded and got into the cab, and John started walking towards what his mobile told him was Barker and Stone financial.

He entered and spoke to a rather haughty blonde secretary, who nodded when he mentioned Sherlock.

"He's in there with the head right now, actually. "

He entered to find Sherlock sitting across from a fat man with three chins in a rather stretched gray suit.

"One of your accountants has disappeared." Sherlock said. "I need to know- did she have any financial knowledge that someone would want?"

The man shook his head, his chins wagging as he did. "No, we name each tax return with a number. Only the tech specialists know which return number is with which code, and they never touch the returns anyways. They just have the computers label them and they get dropped into the mail room. Anything else you need to know?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. Could she have been in eh room with the techs one day and seen a code and a return number someone wanted to get there hands on, or not?"

The man shook his head. "No, I can give you the security feeds if you like, but no one but techs are allowed in there. You need an ID to get in."

Sherlock nodded.

"Alright, thank you for your time, Mr. Baker. Tell your wife I hope she recovers soon."

"How did you…?" Mr. Baker asked, but Sherlock was already out the door.

"Anything?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "No. She knows nothing. Unless she was working on a return and a tech had told someone whose return it was…."

"Who would kidnap an accountant for financial details?" John wondered.

Sherlock sighed. "Politics, John, politics. It's petty, the way I see it, people wanting to know if someone hasn't done there taxes right or what not to gain political leverage. It's dumb, but it happens. So now…."

His mobile suddenly beeped, and he checked it.

**Valorie's seamstress murdered at George's Bridal, sounds bloody. I'm headed there.**

**-AH**

* * *

**Cliff hanger! Again.**


	17. I watched Soap Operas

**Chapter 17: I watched Soap Operas**

* * *

"Valorie's seamstress was just murdered.' Sherlock said quietly.

He started down the road with John, turning left.

"She what?" John asked, shocked.

"Murdered. Anna just texted me. Scotland Yard is probably already there, it's annoying, but Anna will probably already be in there as well…."

Sherlock entered the gown store, ducking under crime tape that had been set up by the fitting room area.

"You! What are you doing here?" Anderson asked, staring down at Anna.

"I'm here on a private case, Valorie's already consulted us. Right, Valorie?"

A very pale Valorie swallowed and nodded.

"She texted me the details just now. Oh, and I have your wife's number, if you don't let me on, I just might text her all about your fun with Donovan every Tuesday night."

Anderson stared. "Is that blackmail?" he snarled.

"Yes." Anna said, pushing him aside and entering the fitting room.

The seamstress was still holding Valorie's dress in one hand, but it was stained red. Anna looked at the slit in her throat and bent down to examine it.

Just then, Sherlock entered behind her.

"Anything yet?" he asked her.

"Give me a minute…." Anna said.

She stood. "Sixty eight, just returned from the Bahamas, judging by the tan and her key-chain that says I heart Bahamas, died approximately three hours ago, judging by the film over the eyes, and temperature, I'm guessing, and her throat was slit by a leftie."

Sherlock nodded. "Good. The question is who did it."

"Could be sexual, but the body wasn't killed here. Her nail polish is smudged, showing she'd just pained and it was almost dry but someone moved her and smeared it constantly along the right hand, slit her throat, and placed the dress and needle in her hands. We need DNA samples."

Sherlock nodded. "Good. Anything else?"

Anna shook her head.

Sherlock sighed. "They've gone after another member of the wedding party, or someone involved in it, it looks like. The body was meant to be here, too, so Valorie would find it. Someone's trying to scare her."

Anna nodded.

"Alright, so what if they are?"

Donovan came in then.

"Out, freaks, Lestrade's not happy today."

Sherlock nodded. "Come on. We'll discuss this further at the flat."

Anna nodded. "One person murdered, another disappeared from a wedding party. Who is her fiancé, anyways? There has to be some motive, some connection. We need to figure out who these people are."

Sherlock nodded. "That's what I'm assigning you to do." He said. Anna nodded and went over to her laptop, typing fiercely.

Scott Farlow. He was the son of a florist and a road worker, with a step sister names Alicia Farlow….

She searched his family. His mother had divorced his biological father and had received custody of both him and Alicia, after re-marrying Harold Farlow.

She searched Harold's family, instantly finding something.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock came over.

"Her fiancé, his father is a brother to a member of parliament. Maybe they wanted to get to him by screwing up the wedding."

Sherlock nodded. "Keep digging. Write down the theories for me."

She nodded.

Within ten minutes, she was done.

"Alright, the one who disappeared, Chelsea, I think her name is, is the sister of the bride, single, financial person, missing for a day. The seamstress seemed to be to kind of scare the bride off, but it didn't work, and we still don't know who killed her. Security cameras were down at the time of her murder. Her Fiancé is nephew to a member or parliament, well, step-nephew, anyways, and I think someone is trying to get to them and stop the wedding. Purely political."

Sherlock nodded. "It does seem like it. But the sister, the one who disappeared. She could be killing people. She might not want the wedding to go on. The question n is, why?"

"Because she loves Scott, maybe, is trying to break him up with her sister so she can have him."

Sherlock gave her a look. "Since when do you know that?"

"Since I've watched soap operas. I'm not saying it's true, I'm just saying there's a chance."

Sherlock nodded. "Alright. I want all the conspiracy theories you can come up with next. I have to pay a visit to someone."

Anna nodded and started scrawling down theories, while john gave him a look.

"where are you going?" he asked.

Sherlock sighed. "somewhere I never wanted to be." He said.


	18. Somewhere I never wanted to be

**Chapter 18: Somewhere I never wanted to be**

* * *

He arrived at Mycroft's office and Anthea allowed him in.

Mycroft looked up, surprised, when he entered. "Hello, Sherlock. Why are you here? Has our niece become too troublesome for you? Do you want me to take her?"

Sherlock shook his head,. "no. I need information on someone for a case."

"And who would this be?"

"Benjamin Farlow. I assume you know him?"

Mycroft scoffed. "Hardly."

"do you know about his political enemies?"

Mycroft shook his head. "now why do you think I'd tell you, dear brother?"

"Because otherwise I'll be forced to go ask other people and make you look like a fool who doesn't know all the gossip." Sherlock said

Mycroft swallowed. "You will not go and see anyone else! My reputation is at stake here!"

Sherlock smiled. "then give me what I want."

Mycroft sighed, scrawling some names down on paper.

"here they are. It's all about one bill, really, on airport security. The vote on it is next week."

Sherlock nodded.

"your reputation and social status remains safe. For now, that is." Sherlock said.

He left, leaving Mycroft to sigh in relief after he was gone.

"Anna, I've found something." Sherlock said as he got home. It was one in the morning, though, and he found Anna slumped on the table with her face pressed against it, asleep. He sighed. He wished she didn't have to sleep. He moved to carry he to bed but she heard his footfalls and started awake.

"What?" she asked.

"Oh, what did you find?" she asked.

Sherlock grinned. "Terrorists. Lost of them. Benjamin Farlow, the groom's uncle, has to vote about an airport security bill. He's had tons of adversaries spring up against him."

"Why would they not want better airport security?" Anna asked.

"unless… Terrorists!"

Sherlock smiled "yes. And I think they're planning something big, too. The vote on the bill is next week,. And so is the wedding.  
I think that Valorie is probably panicking now and wants to get the wedding over with as soon as possible. But I also think that the terrorists plan to make there move at the wedding. I need you to go undercover."

Anna nodded. "Sure. When? Tomorrow? Or at the wedding?"

"At the wedding." Sherlock said. "But the wedding is tomorrow. Scott and Valorie rescheduled, they were panicking. Valorie rented a dress, I think, and it's tomorrow. They're asking us to be extra security."

Anna nodded. "Okay. Why?"

"they're other security couldn't fit in the time of the wedding." Sherlock explained.

"They're playing right into their hands!" Anna said.

Sherlock nodded. "that's what I told them, but they didn't listen. Anyways, we're the last line of defense for wedding security tomorrow. So you're the flower girl."

"What?" Anna stared, and Sherlock sighed.

* * *

**Next chapter is incredibly odd. Enjoy!**


	19. Weddings and Terrorists

**Chapter 19: Weddings and Terrorists**

* * *

"I hate this. I hate this. I hate this." Anna whispered over and over again as she stood at the back of the chapel.

"you can hate it. Just smile." Sherlock said through the earpiece she was wearing. Her automatic pistol was at the bottom of the basket, underneath the flower petals.

She noticed a little girl in a pink dress sitting the pews, sulking and glaring at her, and realized it was probably Alicia, the girl who was supposed to be the flower girl, the little sister of the groom. She probably didn't understand terrorists would open fire at the wedding. It seemed no one understood.

The bride and groom refused to wear bullet proof, and Scotland Yard had refused to come, as well.

The music started playing, and she started forward, scattering white rose petals beside the ring bearer.

The bride and groom started down the aisle, as well, and she tried not to trip on her dress and pasted a fake smile on her face.

The preacher started the ceremony, and she wished these two had just agreed to sign a marriage certificate without a ceremony. It had grown incredibly hot in here, and she sighed. This was going to take forever.

She never thought she'd be so happy to hear gunfire as she was then, from the balcony, down In front of the bride and groom. People screamed and hit the ground. She knew she was assigned to protect them at all costs, which meant shooting. She reached for her gun at the bottom of the basket of rose petals, when suddenly she felt an arm drag her back. The best man had her, and she had been so surprised she'd dropped the basket.

She went to fight, but suddenly the gunfire stopped, and a voice boomed out.

"Let us take the girl, and no one gets hurt."

A voice said over the speakers in the cathedral.

"You mean Alicia?" Scott asked, shocked.

"Scotty, no!" She yelled, knowing it was the only chance they had of everyone getting out alive. The best man grabbed a gun and put it to her head, and she pretended to scram for Scotty, since he was supposed to be her older brother, after all. They backed out of the church, and suddenly she found herself being thrown onto the ground. There was a buzzing noise, and a helicopter had suddenly landed. She was thrown inside.

She felt her hands shaking, but she knew by posing as Alicia, she'd probably saved countless lives. Now, she would go as hostage for a terrorist group and pretend to be Alicia, she supposed.

Sherlock stared as the helicopter took off, feeling both shock and fear well up inside him, mixed with pride.

Anna had given herself up so that no one else was killed, but now she was no doubt in the hands of a terrorist group. He hadn't expected them taking Alicia hostage, had only planned that they'd all be held as hostages in the room. But things had been different, now and he let out a breath.

"We need to go see Mycroft, now." He said. John nodded, and they started towards his office.

She hadn't wanted to sleep, but it was warm in the helicopter, and she didn't mind flying. She also had a feeling they'd drugged her, since they'd injected her with something, and she was out cold within a second.

She woke up blind folded, tied to a chair. Terrorists. That was right. She was kidnapped by terrorists. She felt this wasn't really the best situation to be in, but then again, she was a Holmes. She could work around problems.

They had openly wanted Alicia as hostage to ransom for a vote, so they would probably keep her until they'd gotten the vote they wanted about airport security, to make terrorist attacks easier.

She sighed and coughed. It was dusty here, and she was still woozy from the drugs they'd used on her.

But at least nothing would really happen, since he uncle wasn't someone in power….

She kicked herself mentally. Mycroft! Mycroft would no doubt conform to terrorist wishes if it meant getting her back alive, which she hated. And lives of special operations personnel would probably by risked to rescue her.

She bit her tongue as punishment for her own stupidity and heard laughing.

"Stupid girl." She heard a man say in thick Arabic. She'd learned how to speak it once, when she'd read a story about terrorists. And her uncle Mycroft had said she'd never need that knowledge.

She listened carefully, trying to get a clue of what was going on.

She realized she was probably on her own, now. Since she'd stepped into that helicopter, she'd become a hostage.

She sighed. This was the worst possible situation to be in. Well, she could think of worse, but this was the worst situation she'd been in so far. Escape was her only option, she knew, and she just had to figure out how to do it. Her feet reached the floor, and she kicked backwards. The chair fell over, her still tied to it, and she heard the men swear and rush over to her. One of them slapped her across the face and she sighed. This couldn't be good.

Just then, there was another call, and her blind fold was ripped off. She was untied from the chair and led by the men into a room. Her arms and legs weren't bound together, only her arms were cuffed, and she could easily make a run for it now, but that only gave her a small margin of escape. She figured she should still listen in.

There was a camera in the room, along with an Israeli man speaking heavily accented English.

"Woman who sister of lady dead. You want niece back, you vote no." he said. "Here is she."

She saw the man on camera and grimaced. So this was Benjamin Farlow, the man who was supposed to be her uncle.

He looked confused for a minute, then nodded. "I'll vote no. Give her back, now."

"No. We know what vote is, man. We decide after vote."

Great. Just great. She was going to be stuck here for a week, with terrorists.

"Call Sherlock Holmes!" she yelled, as the man slapped her across the face again. She kicked him in response and found herself being punched in the face and dragged down a hallway, until she was thrown into a dark room. The door clicked shut behind her, and she sighed. It was going to be a long week, hopefully less.

* * *

**She's kidnapped! And in a dress, no less! Oh, the torture! :O**


	20. Reckless

**Chapter 20: Reckless**

* * *

She was summoned into the room of who she assumed to be the leader, beside her two captors, an hour later.

As soon as the leader saw her, he swore.

"She is not the one!" he yelled in Arabic. "It is another! You've taken the wrong girl, you idiots!"

The men both looked like they wanted to cower, but one spoke.

"The Brit did not deny she was his niece."

"That is because she is still a Brit, you fool! But one Brit hostage is not enough to make him change his vote! We need niece!"

"She could still be worth something. She called out the names Holmes. Why would she call out for him unless he was meaningful to her? Meaning she is meaningful to him. And Holmes is famous…."

"He has no say in the Vote!" cried the man.

She was debating whether or not to speak about Mycroft as a call came on the laptop at the table.

"Mycroft holmes…. It appears the girl may still be of some use." He said.

He picked up, and she saw Mycroft in the frame.

"I want my niece back, 511." He said.

The man laughed. "Will you vote yes, then?"

"I have no say in the vote." Mycroft said.

The man who he had called 511's face darkened.

"Then she will die! She is of no use to us! Take her away, boys!"

She heard Mycroft speaking in the background as they led her away again. "I'm a powerful man, 511, I can influence people!"

"But you guarantee us no more votes. So girl is useless." 511 said, before ending the video chat.

Mycroft turned to Sherlock and John, who were still in his office. "I tried." He said. "Who knows what they'll do to her now?"

Sherlock shook his head, still pacing. "No, they won't hurt her. She's still a hostage, she's famous, since the last case… they still might use her for something. They wouldn't kill her…."

"Do you have any idea where they are?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "They could be in Israel, but that would seem unlikely…."

"I can't send in special operations to get her out until I know where she is, Sherlock." Mycroft said patiently.

"Well even she doesn't know where she is, Mycroft! Or she would have said something besides, call Sherlock Holmes, to Benjamin!" Sherlock thundered.

He sighed and continued pacing.

"She wasn't tied up, she could have easily run…."

"There are terrorists, Sherlock. She wouldn't have had a chance." Mycroft said.

"Yes, she would have, you underestimate her, Mycroft. She's trying to gather information now , trying to figure out where she is, planning. I know her. She's not going to break for it until she has at least a ten percent chance."

"Ten percent?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, she's so reckless, but anyhow, my main concern is her survival. Where is Alicia Farlow?"

"Safe with her family at an undisclosed location." Mycroft said.

"Great, this is just great, she's with terrorists in some far off place, and we have no way to get to her. Meaning we'll have to rely on her skills."

"you said yourself she was skilled." John pointed out.

"yes, but in a life or death situation? She won't be scared, that's the problem with her. She'll practically run right at the gunfire! She's the kind of kid who would play chicken with a train and win! She has no sense of self-preservation!"

"Neither do you." John pointed out.

"Let's look on the bright side here." Mycroft said.

"Which is?"

"She didn't shoot anyone yet."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and kept pacing.

* * *

**Please keep up the R&R! :)**


	21. Infuriation and Information

**Chapter 21: Infuriation and Information**

* * *

There was one window to the place she was in, only filthy fiberglass she couldn't break. She looked around the room carefully. There was a dead rat in the corner, and some other interesting things, but that was it. She walked to the window and spit on the grimy glass, trying to clean it, looking outside. It was night, by now, and there were stars, and a moon. She grinned.

Carefully, she found Polaris, then found the angle it was at, which was the same as he latitude. She closed her eyes, easily withdrawing a world map from her mind palace. She was about fifty degrees north, meaning there was a slight possibility she could still be in England, but it was most likely she'd be either in Poland or Germany. That was useful, she figured.

The again, it didn't matter, since she didn't want special operations to come after her and risk themselves so she could get out. She wanted to bust out by herself. So, she needed a distraction. Fire, maybe, or something else.

He hadn't slept. He just sat in his chair, thinking, fingers tapping on the table beside him. The flat was quiet now. It was quiet when Anna was here too, around three in the morning, but it was a different quiet, a peaceful one. This one was restless, tugging at his insides and making him crazy.

Was she alright? the question nagged at him again and again. He supposed she was sleeping, hoped she was, at least, hoped she wasn't in too much pain or wasn't loosing hope or unconscious or bleeding to death.

He could only hope, right now, it seemed.

He got a text from Mycroft for the sixteenth time that day. Still no news. He sighed and contented himself to close his eyes, but knew sleep would never come. His mind wouldn't stop reeling.

She carefully thought, eyes closed, les crossed. There was no vent in the small closet, and the air got stale quickly. She was trying to think and not to suffocate when the door opened.

"Up. Are you stupid?" a man asked in Arabic. She opened her eyes and pretended not to understand. He was in his early twenties, had a wife, who wasn't with him, judging by the look of bitterness in his eyes, and was no doubt a firm believer in the system in which he operated.

"Up!' he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet,. She pretended to look confused as he dragged her down the hall and threw her into a plush looking room, where she ended up landing on her knees. The lack of food and water was getting to her.

The man in the chair in front of her smiled. 511. He was the man from the other day. Her lips were cracked and bleeding, and she was starving, as well. He smiled at her disheveled appearance.

"Hello, girl. I see you still look pretty In your dress."

She looked down at her dress, still in disgust. He threw a pair of bleak looking clothes at her. "Change. In there. Now." She stepped into a small closet and did as she was told, shutting the door behind her and emerging a moment later in a black short sleeve shirt and jeans.

"Look nice." He said.

"what, you don't speak English?" he asked.

"I do." He had more than one wife, but she couldn't call it an affair, since Muslims were allowed to have more than one. He had dark skin and almost black hair. He was young, with dark brown eyes, and he smiled, revealing white teeth. She didn't trust him, yet he wore all white, so she couldn't tell a thing about him from it.

"Trying to categorize me girl?" he asked, getting up.

"No. Trying to figure out where I should shoot you." She retorted.

He smiled. "you're a feisty one, I see." He said, walking past her. He whirled and struck her so hard she hit the wall and slid down.

"That is no way to talk to me! Women must know there place! You will learn, girl!" he roared.

He smiled as she felt blood run down her face. "If you were my child, you would have a nice husband to keep you in place by now."

She elected silence was the best move, unless she wanted information.

He smiled. "Learning already, girl. Get up."

She obeyed, meeting his eyes.

"Do not meet my eyes. Look at the ground. You are not my equal."

"What do you intend to do, 511? Tame me and then make me your fourth wife?" she asked suddenly, looking up.

"Silence!" he hit her again, sending her flying into a wall, and she stood quicker this time.

"I would never take a swine such as you to be my wife!" he yelled. "do not stand until I tell you to do so!"

"I don't take orders from you."

He hit her again, and she flew back. She spit blood onto the floor.

"So, whose wife will I be, then, if none of your men can tolerate me?" she asked, standing again without being told.

511's eyes flashed. "You will be sold to the highest bidder!" he yelled, striking her again.

"You give up now! Obey me! Are you not in pain!?" he demanded.

"I may be a female, but I will not give up just because some thick headed man tells me to." She retorted. He hit her twice this time, to punches to the face, and pinned her against the wall.

"Obey." he said through grit teeth.

She spit blood onto his face and he screamed, going into a rage and hitting her again and again. Finally, he stopped, and they were both gasping for breath.

"Do you not know when to be silent, girl?" he asked.

She smiled. "I do. But if I obey, you might change your mind and want me to be your wife. I'm not willing to take that chance."

He cried out in rage and went to hit her, and she ducked this time, elbowing him in the ribs. He was surprised, and staggered back, and she back handed him in the face and kneed him in the ribs.

He let out a muffled cry and two men rushed into the room, each of them grabbing her and dragging her off.

"You will not be so wild next time, girl!" 511 yelled down the hallways as she was dragged out. She was happy as she stared at his bloody face.

"Are women so inferior now, jerk? You had to have your guards defend you! Next time you won't be so lucky!" she yelled.

She was shoved into her closet, and once there, she hit her knees, happy that she'd been able to get information. She was being sold to the highest bidder. She just prayed it wasn't Moriarty. But now that news of her being sold as a captive would spread, she knew she had less time than ever to escape.

* * *

**hey! i know this chapter has Muslim terrorists in it, and i didn't want to offend anybody out they're, but I figured it'd be best to make it bloody, since terrorists are willing to go much too far to get what they want. If anyone was offended by this chapter or anything is incorrect with the religion, please PM me and I'll fix it. Apologizes in advance if i did mess anything up. Love, Fluffykitty12**


	22. You Fear Her

**Chapter 22: You Fear Her**

* * *

Sherlock and John both sat in Mycroft's office that day, waiting for a video call. Otherwise, the room was silent.

Suddenly, the computer beeped, and the image of 511 appeared.

He was sporting a black eye that was swollen shut. Sherlock and John got into the frame this time, too.

"Hello, 511." Mycroft spoke.

Sherlock couldn't hide his grin as he saw the extent of the wound and the crocked nose. Anna had probably had something to do with that.

"You think something is funny, Sherlock?" 511 asked.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. My niece gave you that black eye, no doubt."

"And I gave her punishment!" replied 511 vehemently. "She will pay for what she has done soon enough. This will be our last communication with you, Mycroft."

'Why is that?" Mycroft asked.

511 smiled. "We've… taken care of your niece so you say."

"You have not." Sherlock said. "if you were trying to kill her, she would have hurt you more."

511 smiled. "Very good. Btu she is being dealt with accordingly. She would not obey me. She was taught, so you say. But she did not learn. She will not obey. She is fiery, the complete opposite of a good Muslim bride."

"you're going to have her married?" Sherlock asked.

511 laughed. "no. no good Muslim man would take her. She is a flame, too spicy to handle. Not one of them would take her. They'd rather take a mule to be there bride. She is a flame. But don't worry, I shall extinguish this spirit she possesses, stomp it out."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, you won't, 5611. She is a lighted match, and she will burn you. And if you so much as lay another hand on you, I will hunt you down and kill you, and I will make it slow…."

"You are a thousand miles away, British man. You don't scare me."

Sherlock smiled. "No, I probably don't, but my niece does." He said. He saw the shock flash through 511's eyes. "And if you hurt her, you won't live to see Britain again."

511 ended the call.

"Wow." John said, staring.

"Why did you make him angry?" Mycroft demanded. "you've just made things worse for her!"

"it was necessary." Sherlock said, and shrugged. "besides, that model of Helicopter she was taken in, it would only have enough fuel to take her a few hundred miles. So, make a radius around Britain. Also, I saw traces of breakfast on his shirt, fresh, meaning it was early in the morning, probably around eight am there. It's nine here. So, in a different time zone…. Germany!" Sherlock suddenly burst out.

"That's brilliant. She's in Germany, probably in an old warehouse. Those men would seem different, they're not from the country, but there would have to be records of their landing somewhere, unless it was a private heli-pad…."

Sherlock was already on his laptop, fingers flying.

John sighed with relief. They'd get somewhere, soon, now.

* * *

**:)**


	23. Fire

**Chapter 23: Fire**

* * *

She woke up from a fitful sleep to find food and water in front of her. She was unsure whether or not to take it, but finally, hunger won out, and she took a bite of the pop tart and sipped the water.

Almost as soon as she was done eating, she was dragged into 511's office again.

She saw his black eye and laughed.

"hello, 511." She said.

"Quiet, girl. You will not be laughing by the time this is over!"

"Oh, won't I?" Anna challenged. She noticed the guards were still in the room.

"keeping your guards here, I see. You're more of a coward than I thought."

511 hit her, and she sighed as she fell, knocking some things off his desk as she went. 511 continued beating on her until she was ready to black out, and she didn't dare retaliate.

511 smiled. "you've learned, girl." He said happily, grinning. She struggled to stay conscious as he spoke.

"We've found a buyer, too. He can't wait to talk to the famous Anna holmes." He said, before kicking her one last time. She blacked out.

As soon as the door to her closet had closed behind her, she opened her eyes. She hadn't really blacked out. She'd come close to it, but she hadn't.

On his desk, 511 had had an electric pencil sharpener. What a terrorist needed it for, she had no idea, but she had been sure to knock it off his desk when she fell. It had broken open, just like she'd hoped, and the two batteries had landed underneath her. She'd manage to grab one when she went down, along with slipping a few paper clips into her sleeve. Now, for the fun to begin.

She bent up the paper clips and attached one end to the positive charge side, then took the paper clip and touched it to the negative charge side. It sparked, and she grinned, moving over to the wall. She sparked the battery again and waited until the sparks landed, then blew on them carefully. Soon, the wall was on fire, and she was left grinning as the flame caught. She'd be out of here soon enough.

* * *

**Okay, I'm trying to write these little comments in bold at the end of every chapter, but I'm running out of things to write since people aren't R&Ring! ugh! Please, R&R so these little bold comments don't get so boring!**


	24. not Her best Idea

**Chapter 24: Not Her Best Idea**

* * *

Sherlock grinned. "dusselhof, Germany. They reported drug gang activity there, gang wars and explosions in buildings. That was just a cover."

Mycroft nodded. "I'll get special opps on it right away."

"We get to go too, Mycroft. I won't let you leave me here."

Mycroft sighed. "fine, I have a friend who owes me a favor anyways." Mycroft said. "Charles, I need to borrow the jet.' He said into his phone. He nodded to them both. "Let's go." He said.

The plane was landed in a field, ready with a pilot within ten minutes. Sherlock and john both sat in the luxurious back and Mycroft nodded. 'you two want anything to eat?" he asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "No. not until we find her." Mycroft rolled her eyes as they took off.

The fire was catching relatively well, she realized, as she lay on the floor in the corner. The wall was burning well now, and for a brief moment she wondered if this hadn't been her best idea ever.

"Fire!" she heard someone scream in Arabic.

The cry went up, and the door burst open.

She launched herself at her attacker, shoving him into the flaming wall, which he fell through, yelping. He got up and she kicked him away, grabbing his gun and slamming him into the wall again, before rushing out, gun ready.

She heard exclamations in Arabic and swore. She'd just awakened the rest of them.

"Freeze!' she said in Arabic, brandishing the gun.

Three men who were going to rush at her stopped.

"She speaks Arabic?" one of them asked in surprise.

The other one laughed. "She probably doesn't even know how to shoot. She is a woman. Come, don't be afraid."

The smoke was growing thick, and the entire place was going up in flames.

"Don't. I know how to shoot." She said, in Arabic.

The man started to rush forward, and she fired, hitting him in the arm.

He screamed and his friends opened fire on her. The man behind her recovered himself and moved for her, but she dodged and rushed up the staircase.

The fire was already taking over, the various rooms going up in flames, and the men exchanged glances with one another. Their lives or the girl?

"Get her, you fools!" 511 started rushing towards the stairs. Ceiling tiles were falling now, and their faces were blackened with soot.

"Well, what are you waiting for, you cowards? Go!' 511 ordered.

The men turned and ran. 511 swore in Arabic and brandished his gun. He'd take the girl himself.

She was on the roof. She gasped fresh air, since the smoke here was less choking. It was still hot, though, and she realized she was having trouble breathing. Her asthma was acting up again. She still pushed on, and heard footsteps over the crackle of flame. 511 staggered through the smoke, gun raised

"Give up, girl." he wheezed.

She looked down to see three black cars driving away at a great speed. "Your friends have left you, 511." She managed to choke out.

"It doesn't matter! I know what truly matters, selling you, to further the cause!"

Anna shook her head. "No, it isn't…." she staggered. She wasn't going to stay conscious much longer.

* * *

**Going to write more soon, been working on fixing up all these chapters in the write order and editing/writing/daydreaming/commenting.**


	25. I shot hiim

**Chapter 25: I Shot Him**

* * *

"Look!" John said, pointing down. There, out the thicket of trees, was a huge billowing cloud of smoke tainting the sky.

"Land there." Sherlock ordered.

"What?' Mycroft asked. "Don't be so rash, Sherlock, we don't know for sure…."

"Mycroft, do you see chaos, panic, and disorder down there, as well as fire?"

"Well…."

"That has Anna written all over it. Land!"

Mycroft nodded to the pilot, who took them down.

"You won't shoot me. I'm valuable merchandise to you." She said.

"You're more trouble than you're worth." 511 said.

She smiled sweetly. "I'll take that as a compliment coming from you."

"Stand down! Obey, and I might let you live."

"no.' Anna said, still keeping her gun ready.

511 laughed. "You're don't know how to shoot." He said.

"Ask your friend. He's on his way to the hospital right now." She challenged.

511 took a step towards her and she fired for the heart. She saw his eyes widen in shock as the bullet hit him, and him stumble and fall over the edge of the building.

She stared after him, looking down at the unmoving form on the ground. He was dead. She'd killed him.

She reminded herself this was far from over, and started to stagger back towards the stairs.

She staggered down off the roof, down past the first floor and outside, until she was on the ground. She looked behind her. The entire building was being devoured in licks of flame, and she gasped, knowing she'd have to get away before it collapsed.

As soon as she was sure she was safe, she collapsed onto the grass around it, gasping and struggling to breath.

Her head hurt, and she felt dizzy. Her arms felt hot, along with her cheeks, and she knew she was probably burned. Her main concern was her asthma, though, since she couldn't really breathe.

"Where is she?" Mycroft asked, looking frantic as he saw the burning warehouse.

"There." Sherlock saw her curled up on the ground, about twenty feet away from the building, and ran over.

"Anna? Are you alright?"

She was gasping for breath, he realized, and he pulled her inhaler from his pocket and gave her a puff. Slowly, she caught her breath.

"Better?" he asked. She nodded.

"Let me have a look at those burns." John ordered.

Btu at that precise moment, she started coughing up soot.

"511… he's dead." she managed to get out. "I shot him."

Sherlock nodded. "If he's dead we can't help it. We can help you, though. Are you alright?"

She nodded. "Yeah…. I'm starving, though. Have anything to eat?"

Sherlock nodded. "Let's get back to the jet." He said.

"The what?"

"We borrowed a jet to get to you." John said.

"I… you know what, forget it. I'll ask about it later." She said, leaning against Sherlock and losing consciousness.

Sherlock caught her before she hit the ground and gently picked her up, carrying her back to the jet.

He cast John a worried look. "Is it bad?" he asked.

John looked at her, examining the burns. "A few second degree burns, and she's got a lot of bruises and a fat lip. The 511 jerk must have really down a number on her. My main concern now is smoke inhalation, though. She shouldn't have just collapsed like that."

Sherlock nodded and carefully set her in a seat. He wiped the soot from her face, and her eyes fluttered open. The plane took off, and she looked from Sherlock to John, as though confused.

"Can you hear me?" john asked.

She nodded. "Yeah. What the heck are we doing? And where's 511?"

"Mycroft will send back the recovery team to get him." john said, starting to clean her burns. "This will hurt."  
She didn't complain, though John knew it had to have been agony to feel him cleaning every open wounds.

"How do you feel?" John asked when he was finished.

She shrugged. "Hungry. Can I eat now?"

Sherlock nodded and smiled slightly, handing her a cup of juice. "Take it slow, or you'll be sick."

She nodded and drained the cup of juice in a minute.

"So, how'd I do? Oh, I think I accidentally killed another terrorist. I shot him in the arm and I'm not sure if he got out."

Sherlock shrugged. "You did what you had to. I'm impressed. We'll talk about 511 later. Did he hurt you, though?"

Anna shook he head. "Just got all sexist and said women were inferior and what not, until I shot him when he came at me on the roof, and then he fell off…."

Sherlock nodded. "We'll figure it out later." He said, noting she was pale.

She shook her head. "Sherlock, they were going to give me to the highest bidder to use the money for weapons and what not." She said.

Sherlock nodded. "Well, they didn't. You're safe, now."

She shook her head. "No, they had a buyer all lined up and everything, I just didn't know who he was, or she, I burned the place down before they sold me."

"_You _burned it down?" Mycroft asked, shocked.

She nodded. "Duh. Who else would set fire to that hole?"

She turned back to Sherlock. "But, anyways, there was another buyer lined up…. I don't think it was Moriarty. I don't think he knew. Who else would want to buy me, though?"

Sherlock sighed. "We'll figure it out later." He assured her. She nodded, before falling asleep in his lap.

* * *

**She surprises everyone but Sherlock when she burns down the building. Technically, it;s legal, since she was kidnapped.**


	26. Next Best Thing

**Chapter 27: Next Best Thing**

* * *

Anna didn't look up as she mixed chemicals in a beaker. The doorbell rang again, more persistently this time, and still she didn't answer. Sherlock was out to Cardiff with Scotland Yard on a case, with john, so she was here alone for two days. She highly doubted Sherlock was on a case, though. She figured he'd gone to try and figure out who the man was who'd wanted to buy her off the terrorists. Her suspicion was confirmed when Lestrade let himself in.

"Hello, Lestrade. Sherlock's out right now.'

Lestrade nodded, brows furrowed. "When will he be back?"

She shrugged. "No idea. He's in Cardiff right now, actually, he said by the end of the week…."

"The end of the week?" Lestrade asked, looking shocked.

"Yes, the end of the week." That was all she said, since Mycroft has kept her being taken hostages by terrorists hushed up, said she was a different girl and had been freed.

Lestrade nodded, and then sighed. "Look, we need help. Anderson isn't going to like it, neither is Donovan, but I'll make them shut up and let you work if you come and look at the case, alright?"

She nodded and stood. "Why take me, though? Why not just call Sherlock?'

"Because, you're the next best thing."

She nodded and pulled on her coat. "Smart answer. Give me the details as we go.'

She sat in the front seat of the squad car beside Lestrade as they drove.

Lestrade sighed. "There's not much of a body left to look at, I'm afraid. You'll see when we get there.'

She nodded and got out of the car at the scene.

She ducked the crime scene tape and entered a disheveled looking café. On the floor was a body, not like the normal ones, but burned and charred, almost blackened. It was a woman.

She nodded and walked around it carefully, putting on rubber gloves. "women, twenty three, by the looks of it, drug user, you can tell by the state what's left of her liver is in, along with her lungs, she's a smoker, probably smoked pot. And her coat, surprisingly, is still intact.'

She unzipped the coat to revel the woman's chest.

Anderson stared. "What are you…?"

"There. Right below her collar, the tattoo. It says freedom in French. There's another mark branded onto her skin as well, on the right palm…. It's the symbol of England…. This was gang activity."

Anderson rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right.'

"This woman was tattooed with the word freedom in French. She's found charred almost beyond recognition with the words pure blood carved into her hand. Which two ethnic groups hate one another? French and English. Think of two gangs that have had recent activity around here. The Pure Bloods and the Freedom. They're mainly made up of French and English racist drug addicts fighting over territory. She was just a victim, and a member of the Freedom, judging by her look."

Lestrade nodded "Better than we could put together. But I though the Pure bloods were whipped out a decade ago."

Anna shook he head, smiling slightly. "No. I've seen them."

"When?' Donovan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Once, when I was little, I met a man by the name of Charles. I grew up in the Yorkshire Dales, and I'd watch the trains go by, and I saw him walking along the tracks, all beaten up. I asked him where he was headed, and he said he was headed to Gagslow with some information. I asked him if he was hungry, and we had him to dinner. My Dad let him stay with us for a night before he kept going."

Anderson scoffed and rolled his eyes. "So you had a member of a long since dead gang walk by you on the train tracks as a child, and you had him to dinner?'

She nodded. "Yes. Anyways, this was gang activity, like I said. The only question is who reincarnated the Pure Bloods?"

Lestrade shrugged. "No idea. Anyways, thanks for your help. Do you need a ride home?"

She shook her head. "I'll walk, but thanks. See you."

She started down the sidewalk, thinking.

As soon as she got back to the flat she found a package and a letter waiting for her outside the door. She saw the handwriting on them and smiled, slipping inside.

_Dear Reckless Little Sister,_

_I've read all about your latest escape from the terrorists in Germany. Well done, I must say. Compared to your life, Afghanistan is boring. I hope my package reaches you in time for Christmas holiday. Sherlock wrote me that you're taking the eighth grade exams before Christmas holiday. I know you'll pass. But anyways, here there is a little girl named Abal. She's very small, and she's poor. If you could pick up some shoes for her, she's about five years of age, and socks, I think she'd love it. Also, I enjoy reading your letters that you send so vigilantly every week. The post here in unreliable, so it's hard to write back. But anyways, if you could get Abal the shoes and socks, I would love it. I hate seeing her walk around to market barefooted each day. Also, if you could send me some more of those number puzzles, I would love it. If the package arrives early, open it anyways. I just wanted to make sure your Christmas present arrives in time and you know I haven't forgotten you._

_Happy Christmas!_

_Love,_

_Mark_

She smiled fondly at the letter from her older brother. Mark was eighteen, on his second tour of duty in Afghanistan. She had been starting to worry, since she hadn't gotten a letter from him in a while.

She removed her pocket knife and carefully cut open the package to reveal a beautiful woven rug. She stared for a moment, looking at the weaving. She felt a lump in her throat and tears in her eyes as she lifted it out and hugged it. It smelled like her brother's cologne, and tears ran down her face as she hugged it.

Finally, when she'd caught her breath, she took it into her room and rolled it out onto the floor. It was beautiful with flowers of different colors woven into it. She sat down on it and smiled, before she remembered Abal.

Sherlock had left her with two hundred dollars while he was gone, and she ran outside and bought a pair of white shoes and laces, as well as Velcro, since Abal might not catch onto tying them immediately, along with socks.

She also got Mark a few packs of gummi-bears, since she knew he liked those, as well as his word puzzle books, and a cell phone, along with a prepaid minute's card.

Then she ran home and placed it all in a box. She remembered he liked her letters, and something else came to mind. She grabbed a piece of paper and started writing.

_Dear Mark,_

_Thank you so much for the letter and the rug! I loved it! As for Abal and you, I'm sending your Christmas packages along with this letter. I hope they reach you by then, since there are only fifteen days left._

_As for Sherlock telling you about the terrorist escape, Mycroft's hushed that up among the people of Britain, and you can't tell anyone else. They just want people to think it was a hostage situation, so please keep it to yourself._

_I'm working on a case by myself, now, Sherlock is away in Cardiff investigating something else, and it's about Gang activity. I remember your reading me that book about London gangs when I was three. It was said the purebloods were wiped out, but were both know it's a lie, since I found that man on the railroad tracks and invited him to dinner when I was five, and he was a pureblood member, Daddy said._

_Anyhow, if you could tell me all you remember about that night, I would owe you one._

_Love,_

_Your reckless little sister_

She posted the letter and package, and then sat down on the couch, bored.

She picked up her mobile and texted Sherlock.

**Found anything yet? I know you're not on a case. You're looking for the man who wanted to buy me.**

**-AH**

A moment later, Sherlock texted back.

**No, found nothing, still looking, though.**

**-SH**

She sighted. She was bored, again, and it was cold in here. She grabbed a sweater and put it on, then sat down with her laptop, electing the keep searching the gang wars.

She found a map of London and marked down the first attack, on the East side of London. She loved the east side the most, out of all the parts of the city. The east part was where it was grubby, and there were the most slums, the darkest alleys to explore. She loved East London. There was always a mystery unfolding.

She also googled the gangs but found nothing other than the fact they had been arrested for trafficking Cannabis and amphetamines. She was surprised they didn't have a wider variety.

That, she decided, was all she could do, and she'd been up all night last night reading, and she looked at the clock, surprised to see it was almost midnight. She'd been obsessing over this for far too long, she knew john would say. Rational John. Sherlock would leave a mug of tea beside her during sometime when she was too busy to notice and she'd drink it long after it was cold, but it was something to drink she didn't have to interrupt her study for, anyways.

She realized anything else was pointless and grabbed a glass of water, before flopping on the couch to sleep.


	27. got your back

**Chapter 29: got your back**

* * *

Sherlock entered 221 B along with john at 5:30 am to find Anna gone.

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked, nervous.

"She's probably out early. She would have struggled if someone tried to take her." John reasoned. Sherlock was still nervous.

She'd ducked behind a stack of rotten crates and waited at the main workroom of the warehouse.

Anderson was taking residence behind an old piece of equipment while Lestrade and Donovan hide in a closet.

A lone man carefully entered the room and waited, standing in the center. Another man, followed by six others, entered.

"When will the shipment come in?" the man asked e contact.

"As soon as we receive payment."

"No, we want the entire market and you know it. We've already given you an advance. We want to see some of it before we buy."

The contact shook his head. Just then, some of the Freedom strode in.

"What are they doing here?" spat the man from pure blood.

"They agreed to pay in full, if I'm right."

The man from freedom nodded.

"How dare you..."

Instantly, guns were drawn, six shots went off, and two men fell, and then Anderson's mobile rang.

"What was that?" asked the contact. They all looked over in Anderson's direction. She knew she'd have to be a diversion, or else Anderson would die.

She yelled.

Instantly, a barge of gunfire came her way, and she prayed it wouldn't hit her. It hit the crates she was behind instead, and they exploded, sending her flying and sending up a cloud of ancient dust and smoke.

"10-44!" Lestrade yelled. Permission to leave. She recovered herself from the ground ad ran outside, climbing a drain pipe and getting back into the building by the top window, firing down on the men and giving Lestrade and Donovan a chance to escape in the distraction.

She slid back down and ran with them as soon as they could.

The squad car had been rendered useless when bullets from a window hit the tires, and they took cover and ran once again, following Anna until they'd reached the flat.

* * *

Sherlock stared as Anna, Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson raced into the flat, Anna slamming the door behind them and breathing heavily.

"That went horribly wrong." she said simply.

"Yeah, not the best idea ever, I'll admit. Are you alright? You were caught in the middle of the explosion."

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Explosion? Anna, what have you been doing?" Sherlock asked, staring at her.

She had a few cuts on her arms and she was dirty, looking like she'd just come from the ghetto.

"I... When did you get back?" she asked, looking confused.

"An hour and a half ago. Do you know how worried I've been?"

"I... Look, I was bored. It was just a case on a gang, and I decided I'd help out..."

"Did I give you permission...?"

"I always go on cases. I figured it would be alright."

"You could have been killed! When you're on cases with me, I make sure you don't be so rash. Your brother was right, you are reckless."

"I only did what you would have done!" she shot back. John was starting to clean his cuts while Donovan, Lestrade and Anderson watched the scrape, amused.

"At least my brother knows me enough to call me that! You could've cared less! You were off in Cardiff or whatever. You didn't care, you never texted, never called."

"I texted you eight times, you left your phone here." Sherlock said coldly, handing it to her.

He noticed the others watching, and he saw how exhausted Anna really was by the look she was giving him, the way tears were in her eyes, angry tears. She really needed to go to bed.

"Ecce iam medium arguendi non summus. Vesti 'defessus. In cubile venerimus." he said, so the others wouldn't understand. _We are not arguing now, in front of everyone. You're tired. Go to bed._

She shook her head"Estis vos furere me?"

_Are you mad at me?_ So he'd upset her.

"Sum sollicitus, ac peregrino. In cubile venerimus. Quae melius mane."_ I was worried, and you're exhausted. Go to bed. Things will be better in the morning._

She nodded before going to her room and shutting the door.

"What did you say to her?" Donovan asked.

"If I had wanted you all to know, I would have spoken English." Sherlock said. "And what possessed you to bring her into a gang war?"

Lestrade lowered his eyes. "We needed help. She was here. I guess we weren't thinking..."

"Weren't thinking what? She was a twelve year old girl, even if she is incredibly brilliant, you'd be blind to forget that. She's not indestructible, as you just saw now. How did you miss the signs she was exhausted and beat up?"

Lestrade shook his head. "I... I don't know."

"No, you don't, because you don't know her, she was exhausted. I don't want her on cases without me, no matter how difficult the are. She could have been hurt even worse than she was, and I wouldn't have been there. Do you know what you would have done then?"

Lestrade shook his head. "I... No, I don't."

"Okay. Glad we understand each other. I think we're done here."

Sherlock waited until they were gone and turned to john.

"How is she?"

"A few scrapes and bruises, she was mainly shaken up. I think you scared her yelling at her like that."

Sherlock nodded. "Good. I didn't want to, but it's like a two year old running into the road. You have to teach it not to somehow."

John nodded. "Yeah, you're right. She did a good job, on the case, though."

"I don't care. She has to learn not to rush into situations without me. She could have been killed."

John nodded. "Seriously, though, what did you say to her?"

"If I had wanted you to understand, I would have said it in English." Sherlock repeated, going to his room. On his way, though, he glanced in Anna's room to see he was sleeping before shutting his own door.

* * *

She slept late, so late Sherlock was starting to get worried. He slipped into her room and placed his hand on her forehead. She didn't have a fever.

Her eyes fluttered open.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, just tired." she said, rolling over in bed. "Since when do you care, anyways?"

"You might be smart but you're still a twelve-year-old girl who thinks she's a man and can fight like one."

"Well I can, cant I?" Anna asked.

"No. You can fight well, but there are some situations you wouldn't come out of. That's why, if you ever get on one, I'll be with you. That's why I was upset last night. Understand? I have to cover you, have your back."

"And I have yours." she said, yawning and falling asleep again.

Sherlock stared at her as she slept. Had she just said she'd had his back? It was odd, hearing it from someone so small, like the mouse who told the lion if he wouldn't eat it it would help it one day. He looked at the clock. It was three in the afternoon. She'd been sleeping for nearly eight hours, but then again, he supposed she had barely slept for the last two nights. She'd been reading one of his chemistry books, finishing the Peter Pan book john had gotten her in fifteen minutes. It was odd she was so like him.

But it was also comforting.

_"Mary!" Sherlock screamed for his older sister as the rabid hunting dog staggered towards him. He was backed up against the steep wall of a ravine, trapped. The dog was obviously going to kill him, and he'd dropped his .22 rifle when he saw it, shocked. How the dog was in front of it._

_"Mary!" the dog staggered closer, Salvia dripping from its mouth, sunken eyes holding nothing, behind it, the mid was already gone, it had gone mad._

_"Mary!" he was practically sobbing now, a nine ear old boy trapped in he ravine, about to be killed by a rabid dog._

_A shot rang out, and the dog fell, convulsing before it felt the release from its torment and the film of death overtook its empty eyes._

_"Sherlock!" Mary rushed out from behind a great tree trunk and embraced him as he shook._

_"I couldn't get a good shot at it." she explained. "Sh...shh... It's alright. Did you think I'd really let it get you?"_

_"I... I..."_

_"Come on, Sherlock, you know I've always got your back." Mary said, hugging him tighter._

_"Come on, let's get back. Mum will be mad of I don't feed the chickens by breakfast. I'd say this hunting trip is over but remember, Sherlock, I always have your back."_

"And I have tours..." she was so like her mother it struck him dumb for a moment. How could he have been so mad at her?

He gently placed the covers over her and she snuggled into them. He brushed her hair back from her face before leaving.

She rolled over and woke up. It was half past four, and she sighed and went out into the kitchen.

"Morning." she said.

"Hello." Sherlock said, not looking up from his microscope as she grabbed a pudding cup from the fridge.

"Any new cases?"

"No. Bored."

"Tell me about it. Since last night there's been nothing..."

She grabbed her laptop suddenly and started typing feverishly on it.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked.

"LSD, I think the gangs want to corner the market on it here, and they're destroying each other to try to do it. The man from last night..."

She googled images, trying to find him, she still remembered his image...

"There! He's a Russian worker, around the government, it says."

Sherlock nodded. He was itching to take over now, to tell her everything, but he knew it was her case. She'd almost been shot for it last night, and he knew she'd figure it out. Besides, he couldn't really say anything useful, only theories he was sure Anna had already come up with.

Sherlock nodded, as she emailed it all to Lestrade, smiling slightly. She was really a brilliant girl. Just far to rash untrained to be out by herself yet.

Sherlock's mobile vibrated. It was from Lestrade.

**Former convict at it again, child abuse case. Interested?**

**-Lestrade**

**Yes. Be there in five minutes.**

**-SH**

He turned to Anna. "Want to come?" she nodded and ran into r room emerging a moment later dressed and ready.

"It shouldn't be that much, just trying to find the hotspots for a child abuser, track his movements."

Anna nodded and they were at Scotland Yard within three minutes.


	28. Catalyst

**Chapter 28: Catalyst**

* * *

"What are you doing?

"Looking through 511's recent contracts." Sherlock said, sighing. "One of them has to be the man who wanted to buy Anna.'

He kept looking through the laptop hard drive, which had actually survived the fire in the old ware house where Anna had killed the terrorist.

"They probably didn't use their real names." John pointed out.

Sherlock sighed. "I know, but every email account is linked to somewhere…."

He searched each account and found nothing. He sighed "They've all been terminated."

John nodded. "I expected as much. The thing that gets me, though, is that you're so concerned about Anna being taken by the man who wanted to buy her, yet you leave her alone in London for a week."

"Is there something wrong with that?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged. "Well, she is twelve years old and she did just escape terrorists last week."

"Yes but if she were here she would hate being the center of attention."

"True. I'm surprised that she hasn't figured out what we're up to yet."

"She has. She just texted me."

John nodded. "Alright. Find anything else yet?"

"No, but there have to be records somewhere."

* * *

"You've covered our tracks, correct?" asked the man.

The young aid nodded nervously. "Yes, sir. We hired the best."

"Who?"

"Moriarty. He works well, for the right price."

The man nodded. "Good. Have we initiated the next case yet?" the aid shook his head.

"No, but right now the purebloods are warring heavily with the freedom, we might have to wait."

The man nodded solemnly. "Or at least send in a catalyst."

* * *

Anna woke up at 4am when he mobile vibrated in her pocket. She blinked sleepily and checked the text.

**Think there will be a gang war soon, need help. Sorry, know it's early. Can you come?**

**Lestrade**

**Sure. Give me five minutes.**

**-AH**

She turned and rushed out the door, after grabbing her coat, and loading her pistol. She thought of taking a cab, but she would be more likely to run into gang members if she walked.

She made it to the Scotland Yard office without incident, to find Donovan, Anderson, and Lestrade waiting.

"Hello. Thanks for coming on such short notice and at such an odd time." Lestrade said.

"No problem. I was sleeping. Sleeping is so boring. Anyways, come on; tell me what you have so far."

"They're both supposed to be meeting with one contact tonight, a leader from each group, but they think they're the only one meeting the man. We don't know a location; all we know is there's going to be a fight tonight."

She nodded. "The contact. Know anything about him?"

Lestrade shook his head. "No, and we don't know anything else all we know is it'll be over by 6am."

She nodded. "Okay, I can work with that, I'm going to need a map of London, a highlighter, and. Laptop."

Lestrade nodded and stepped back, letting her work.

Sherlock stared up at the ceiling and sighed. He was never going to sleep. What john had said earlier had him worried about Anna at home. John was in the twin bed five feet away from him, still awake as well.

"You're not going to sleep, are you?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. I think we should go back, find Anna. I can keep searching from there. She'll be safer if we're together."

John nodded "Alright, let's go, then. No need to panic, though. I'm sure she'll be asleep." Sherlock nodded, but went stairs and checked out.

It was four twenty three when she figured it out. "Okay, I've checked the patterns of the past arrests it should be here... The old factory on west-an road. Let's go. We have to be there asap." she said, turning to Lestrade who nodded.

"Alright you're the only one who can really figure most of the code out, so you can come."

She nodded and hurried into the squad car beside Lestrade.


	29. Scars

**Chapter 30: Scars**

* * *

"His name is David tombson." Lestrade said, turning the laptop to face them. All color drained from Anna's face when she saw the picture.

"Have you heard of him?" Anderson asked.

"Yes." Sherlock said, fighting back his feelings.

He turned to Anna. "Did you forget your laptop?"

She nodded and went outside, and Lestrade turned to Sherlock. "She's seen David before?"

"David beat her when she was six."

The room was silent for a moment, and Lestrade let his breath out. "Okay. So she hates him, then."

"He was her father's business partner, and he got drunk at the Christmas party. We didn't press charges, just broke off with him, let him know he was no longer welcome."

"Did her hurt her?" Donovan asked.

"Well, he broke her nose and gave her a black eye and a fat lip, but she broke one of his ribs."

Anderson nodded. "So you bring you traumatized niece back onto the case about the man who abused her. Real smooth, freak."

"I didn't know it was David."

Just then, Anna walked back in. Some color had returned to her cheeks, but she still looked shaky as she sat back down.

"So, we're recreating the hit list, then?"

Lestrade nodded. "Some of the kids could describe him, for a start."

"Did they have injuries to the face? The female victims, at least?"

Lestrade nodded. "Yes..."

"He likes to do that with the females. Says if he makes them ugly no one will want them but him. He was actually just getting his knife ready..." she trailed off, and Sherlock made sure he was standing beside her as her hands started to shake.

"Si vis esse? Si non bene illud volut." he said quietly. _Are you sure you want to be on the case, it's okay if you don't._

She shook her head. "Volo. Habeo tuum.". _Want to. I have your back_.

Sherlock nodded and they started re-creating the hit list.

"He seemed to favor females over males, since he spent more time beating them, at least, from what you've told me. He seems to strike at random, but I know David, and he loves alcohol. There's a pub by the east end, it has cheap beer, I've been told. You'll probably find him there around midnight tonight, and I'm guessing he'll try and kidnap a kid from the nearby bus stop in morning."

Lestrade nodded. "Thanks for your help, guys. We'll call you if we find anything."

They started away, down the sidewalk, back towards 221 B.

"Are you alright? Be honest with me."

"Yes, I'm fine" she said quietly.

It started to snow again, and she smiled.

Three days passed with no news.

**Found David at the bar. He had only had his third beer, though, and he managed to get away.**

**-Lestrade**

Sherlock was debating whether or not to tell Anna when he noticed she was sacked out on the couch, eyes closed. She read at all hours of the night, he was surprised she could keep her eyes open some days, she was so tired.

He tossed a blanket over her and she mumbled in her sleep.

Sherlock found a letter in the mail addressed to her, form Mark, and set it aside. He hadn't seen his nephew in six months. Neither had Anna, and though she didn't complain, he could tell she was worried whenever they received a letter from the government. She'd always open it with shaking hands, and close her eyes and swallow when it was just some political ad or informational packet, then go to her room. He wouldn't see her for the rest of the day.

* * *

Soon the day came for her eighth grade exams. "Just do your best." John said, smiling encouragingly.

"I see no need to wish you luck, since it's inevitable you'll pass." Sherlock said, not looking up.

She nodded and left. She arrived at the test center early and sat inside, listening while they read the instructions for her English exam, finishing an hour early and writing a short story in Morse code on the booklet.

When she was done, she sighed and started deducing randomly about the people around her.

The girl beside her was red haired, half Welsh, smoked in secret, and was terrified of failing. Boy in front of her was a basketball player, had a slight sprained ankle, though he didn't know it, and was chewing mint gum to cover his morning breath.

"Eyes on your own paper." Hissed a rather rude young teacher with blood red lips and fake nails.

"I'm done." She said handing her test booklet. The woman stared down in surprise but took it, and she sighed and retreated to her mind palace until time was up.

It was like that for most of the day, and then she walked the dog of a person who lived a block away, a neighbor who hired her to. By the time she was done running with the energetic pit bull and on her way home, it was dark. She looked up, wishing to see the stars, but she couldn't. Not with the city lights in the way. She sighed. In the Yorkshire dales, the stars were always the brightest just around Christmas time….

She was stopped short when someone grabbed her. For a moment she panicked, then elbowed whoever it was in the ribs and backhanded them, twisting free and running.

She saw a flash of something before she sprinted, a face. David.

Her breath caught in her throat and she choked on it, but kept running, until she was outside 221 B. her hands were shaking, and she gasped for breath, leaning on the door. She couldn't let Sherlock see her this way.

She tried to take a deep breath but ended up choking on it again, struggling to breath. She pulled her inhaler from her pocket and took a puff, then slipped inside.

She didn't say anything, only went to her room and laid down. Sherlock was reading a book, he didn't notice her, and when John came in from work she feigned sleep. She felt him pull the covers over her and brush the hair from her face, then heard him leave. She slowly drifted off, but only to have the face of David haunt her nightmares.

She didn't sleep well that night, and woke up gasping for breath again. She stared at the ceiling and took two deep breaths, reaching for her inhaler, but realized she'd just panicked and set it back down.

She was sweating slightly, and she hoped she hadn't screamed.

Images just kept flashing through her mind again and again….

* * *

"John, you don't think she has PTSD, do you?'

"What?" John asked, startled. "Why?"

"Well, David did beat her, and she's been quiet lately. I know she's still scared of him, though she won't tell me so."

John ran a hand through his hair.

"She could have PTSD, I suppose, but she should have been showing symptoms earlier… what happened with David, anyways? You said he beat her. How, and where?"

Sherlock sighed. "It was Christmas eve." He said. "There's always a Christmas party at the manor, ever since I was young, and I disliked it immensely, all the people. Anna must have hated it too, since she'd always go off somewhere else quiet. But I noticed her slip outside and I went out after her after a few minutes."

"Her tracks went to the stable, but I saw other tracks, too, David's. David had been at the party, he was one of her father's good friends from a city, and it didn't make sense a man from an office would want to see horses. If he had, he would have asked Anna to show him, but she'd gone out alone. And I remembered he'd been drinking…"

John winced. "How bad was it?"

Sherlock shrugged. "She held her own. As best as a six year old girl can against a full grown drunk, really. I found her with a riding crop, backed up against the wall."

"What did you do?"

"Well I knocked David out, of course." Sherlock said simply. "And took her inside. David went away dejected and angry the next morning. We never exposed him or told of what happened, either, just said we'd stopped doing business with him. But he was still angry with us."

John nodded. "Was she crying?"

"No, she wasn't. She doesn't cry when she's scared, John, she goes somewhere quiet, and she thinks. She's cried every now and then, but I've only seen her cry once, and that was when she was too drugged to remember it.'

John nodded, and Sherlock drifted away into his thoughts in the silence.

_"Come on, dance for me, girl!' he heard David say, laughing crazily._

_He heard a roar of rage next, as he raced towards the light of a lone lantern glowing in the stable._

_"Get away!" he heard yelling, Anna he realized, and then silence._

_He slipped in carefully, not making a noise as his boots went across the hay._

_There was a black horse behind her, snorting and pawing the ground in confusion. Anna sat leaning against this stall. He could barely make out her bloody face in the dim glow._

_David grinned and pulled out a knife. 'If I make you ugly, no one will want you but me." He said giddily, moving towards her. Anna kicked his leg and he jumped back, giving her time to roll aside and undo the latch to the stable door._

_The horse inside neighed and reared and let out a frantic cry, distracting David just long enough for Sherlock to slam into him and knock him out._

_The horse inside the stall panted, and Anna carefully got up and closed the door._

_"I never thought I'd thank you for being so frightful, Nanny.' She said, speaking to the horse._

_"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, turning up the glow of the lantern._

_She nodded, but her face spoke otherwise. Blood was on her lips and nose, and her eye was swelling._

_"Did he hurt you?"_

_She shook her head._

_"Why would you come out here alone?" he asked, taking the riding crop she'd used to hit David and handing it in its place._

_She shrugged. "The party was too noisy, crowded, too many people wanted to talk to me. I didn't like it. And with all the horses, It's warm out here.'_

_Sherlock nodded. He remembered slipping out to the barn several times as a child and sitting warmly in the hay, writing in notebooks._

_"Oh, I found this in a hiding place." She said, handing him a worn composition book. He remembered it as his._

_He nodded thumbing through it._

_"You read it, I suppose?"_

_"Well, only the first page, but then it got too interesting to put aside….' She said sheepishly._

_Sherlock smiled. "It's alright. You found it under the floor in that old stall, didn't you?"_

_She nodded._

_It seemed like she was a carbon copy of himself as a child, though she was a girl, of course, and had her mother's looks, and her father's skill, as well as his own._

_"Let's get you back inside, then. You've certainly had a night. Your father will deal with David."_

_She nodded, and they started outside, back towards the glowing Holmes' Manor._

_"Don't tell mum, alright? She'll be angry at David, probably kill him."_

_"I was thinking of doing so myself." Sherlock muttered._

_She gave him a curious look, and he realized she'd heard him she shrugged. "Well, don't. Besides, mum is nice and fun and all, but she's very over protective, and I don't need her babying me forever. I mean, she was unhappy when you sent me carbonic acid last year. It was simple stuff, really!"_

_Sherlock chuckled at the memory. "Alright. I won't tell her if you promise that you won't go out again without telling me."_

_"Who said we had to go back in?" Anna said. "It's still noisy.'_

_Sherlock sighed. "You can stay in the study with me, if you like.'_

_"Thank you." She said, before she raced on ahead to get inside. Sherlock chuckled and shook his head._

The clock chimed twelve, and Sherlock retired to his room, peaking in to see Anna asleep. He nodded to himself with satisfaction before he himself went to bed.

* * *

She woke up at four am and couldn't fall back asleep. She didn't want to go back to the nightmares, it had been an awful night, and so she sat face down on her rug from Afghanistan and smelled her brother's scent.

It was like her father's, almost, but with a bit more spice to it. Her father always smiled like pine and cinnamon, his cologne did, at least, and this had a bit of mint thrown in. She smiled and relaxed, then pulled her knees to her chest, sitting up. She still wasn't going to go back to sleep.

Finally, she gave up sitting and went to the kitchen, making herself a cup of tea and sitting down to watch the sunrise. Normally, on mornings like this, when nightmares haunted her, she'd go outside and explore her favorite alleys, but she was too afraid of David to try today.

She didn't know what to do for once. The ghost of her past had come back to haunt her, and she couldn't admit the fear. All her life, she had been the one who was never afraid. The one who was fascinated and figured out who it was who had shot the Widow Falson's cat. She had stared at the bloodied body of a man found by the river and said who had done it. She was the one who had killed a terrorist. But now, here she was, sitting on a window seat, staring out at the world she was too afraid to go into, because of a man she was too afraid to confront. Helpless.

She'd thought and thought, and she couldn't find a solution. She was defeated, finished, and terrified. She'd never be able to work up the nerve to go on the streets again.

Tears were streaming down her face, she realized, but she couldn't stop them, so she simply bit her lip to keep her crying inaudible. She wished her mum were here, to hold her, tell her it was alright, or her dad, to tell her David wouldn't live to see the next day. But they were dead, dead and gone, and she was afraid.

Sherlock took a step into the living room and stopped short, seeing Anna curled up on the windowsill, knees pulled to her chest, tears rolling down her cheeks.

He knew what it was about. David. She was scared of him.

Slowly, her made his way over until he was behind her, approaching her like a wounded animal. He put his arms around her and carefully sat beside her, speaking to her.

"I will not let him hurt you again. I will never, ever, let him touch you again. I promise you"

She shook her head, tears still falling. "No one can promise such a thing."

"I can, and I will." He said, looking at her. She didn't meet his eyes.

"Look at me." He said, lifting her chin with his finger so there eyes locked. 'I will not let him hurt you. Understand?'

She nodded.

"Why's this so suddenly, anyways. He's been gone for a while, now." Sherlock asked.

She froze, wondering whether or not to tell him David had tried to kill her in an alley.

Sherlock mistook her silence for fear and pulled her close to him. "You're shaking." he muttered, and slowly, she stopped.

He looked down to see she was asleep, and smiled slightly. She looked so innocent when she was asleep.

He set her on the couch, and she whimpered when he let go of her. He carried her to her room and set her on the bed, but again she whimpered. He realized she'd memorized the scent of his cologne and carefully sprayed a blanket with it before putting it over her and leaving.

She woke up to find she was warm and relaxed. She could have sworn she'd been crying, but… she remembered Sherlock holding her, and the dried tears on her face felt sticky. She also had an extra blanket on her, like someone had put it over her. So Sherlock had been there, it wasn't just a dream.

She was slightly shocked for a moment, since normally they only shared a laugh now and then or he taught her how to look for things on dead bodies. But he'd been with her, she was sure. She looked at the clock. It was near twelve. He almost never let her sleep that late. He must had deduced she'd been up all night.

Slowly, she got out of bed and then took a shower, getting dressed and going out to the living room.

"you slept late today." remarked John, looking up from the newspaper.

She nodded, perching uncertainly on the edge of the couch. She didn't want to talk right now, and she hoped Sherlock wouldn't make her. Especially not in front of John. She had never admitted fear before, really, and she didn't want John to see.

She noticed Sherlock give her a look, as though making sure she was alright. She offered him a shy grin and he returned it, turning back to his laptop, satisfied she was alright.

She drank another cup of tea before she put on her coat and went downstairs. She'd have to walk the neighbor's dog, still, and she couldn't stay in the flat forever.

She cautiously took a step onto the wet sidewalk. It was stupid, really, this fear, but logic couldn't shake it, and she slowly closed the door behind her. She was still alive, she was alright. She took a breath and ran the two blocks to the neighbor's house, catching her breath there and allowing the pit bull to race down the streets, her behind him.

Fast. As long as they were fast, no one would hurt them.

She carefully sat down on a bench when she felt she couldn't breathe again and took another puff of her inhaler. The dog, Henry, his name was, wagged his tail at her. She knew he wished he could run like this every day.

Slowly, her hands stopped shaking, and she realized the pigeons at the park were staring at her. She smiled slightly. She always had liked pigeons.

Suddenly a car squealed a few yards away and she tensed, only to see it was a driver who'd stopped at a red.

She let out a breath of relief and slowly stood, the dog happily trotting along behind her.


	30. Christmas

**Chapter 31: A Holmes' Christmas**

* * *

She looked up. Her Christmas presents that she'd been ordering for John and Sherlock were set to arrive today, and she didn't want them finding out.

She found the two packages waiting outside and hurried to drag them upstairs before Sherlock, who was in his room, finished whatever he was working on, and John got home from work.

She looked up, and saw a letter sitting on the table, waiting for her. It was the twenty fourth, Christmas eve. It was from Mark. she grabbed it as she ran into her room and hid the packages.

She stared at them, at the address, and she smiled, opening the first one, dated a few days ago.

_Dear Reckless Little sister,_

_Thank you for the shoes. They fit Abal perfectly, and she loves them. Also, thank you for all the other things you sent. Some men here have no family at home, so I share them. I also read them your letters. They think you're quite funny. I didn't read the last letter, of course, about the terrorists things. But they all read the papers you send. And they love the letters about your cases. Some think you're slightly crazy for going out and hunting murders in such danger, but then again, they reason, we're all crazy for being here._

_As for the man from the pure blood, I'm writing that in my next letter. I'm sorry for the wait, but Abal insists I teach her to tie her shoes._

_Love, Mark_

She smiled as she looked at the page, from about five days ago, then moved to the next letter. It was much longer, and she smiled. This would contain what she wanted to know.

_Dear sister,_

_Abal has finally learned to tie her shoes, and now I have a moment between duty to write you. Anyways, I remember that night you found the man on the train tracks._

_Mum sent us down to pick black berries, I remember, and you elected we go down by the train track gully. I elected to be in the woods a little way off, at a different thicket, and we went to work. About an hour later, I came back with my bucket full, and found you sitting on the rail road ties with a strange man, eating blackberries._

_He looked like a rough fellow, judging by his dirty clothes and a few bruises, yet he was nice to you. It could have been the fact that you had berries, but he could have just taken them from you, without asking. He seemed like he'd been dealt a hard hand._

_Anyhow, by the time I approached, you were asking him to supper, and I was against it, since you'd only just met this man._

_He hesitated, and you told him he looked half starved. He agreed, just as he noticed me._

_"Mark, we're going to have a guest tonight." you said, smiling._

_"This is Mr. Charles."_

_The man ducked his head sheepishly. It was around six, by then, but it was august, so the sun was up late. But dinner would be soon, anyways._

_I nodded. "Alright, then, come along if you're coming.' I told him, and we started through the woods._

_You were reckless back then, as well, and I made sure he didn't try anything funny on the walk back to the manor. When he saw that big stone manor, his shock was like no other._

_Anyhow, mum set a place for him and Dad and he talked politics and such like men did, and he left in the morning. Father told us he was a member of the pure blood gang._

_A few weeks later, though, I think it was in October, they said they found him murdered in gagslow. I saw it in the newspaper. He had said he was headed that way, at least. Please, don't be foolish, and don't do anything you'll regret._

_Love,_

_Mark_

"Anna?" She looked up to find Sherlock in her doorway.

"Yes?' she asked.

Sherlock noticed she was reading a letter form Mark and smiled slightly. "what are you doing?"

'Just reading letters. Why?'

"Finished my experiment, I'm bored."

She nodded. "Okay, then. Read this letter. The gang case, the one Lestrade and I haven't solved yet. The gang supposedly was killed years ago, yet we found a member of it when I was five. Anyways, what do you make of it?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I don't know honestly. I'll research it, though.' She nodded and he left. So he wasn't bored anymore. But she was, now.

She sighed and grabbed her laptop, searching last known gang operatives. She found nothing.

A moment later, Sherlock entered. "I found it. That man took news to gagslow. They found a note on his person that was meant for someone, and between the blood stains they found a code. Know anything about it?"

Anna nodded. "Yes, it's the code I cracked earlier." She quickly translated it.

_The horses are dead._

Neither spoke for a moment. Anna grinned. "The horses. My father used to say you couldn't force a horse to drink, if you led it to water, or something. You don't think someone refused to talk and they killed them, do you?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Probably did. Members of the freedom, most likely, that they'd captured. The messenger was probably killed for allowing the hostages to die in interrogation. I'll email it to Lestrade ask him what he thinks."

She nodded and he left. She sighed. Another dead end.

She felt tired, probably from running about with the dog again today, but she went out to the living room and settled by the fire.

John came home, he'd been doing overtime.

"Flu." He muttered. "I'm so glad I got you vaccinated, or you'd have it by now." She nodded.

John sighed. "I forgot to get milk."

"I'll get it, John." She said, jumping up.

It was already around eight, and dark.

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I'll wear a coat, don't worry."

John nodded and sat back. "Thanks" he said, and she nodded and left.

She wasn't afraid of leaving 221 B anymore, since a few days without David had gone by. She stopped at Costco and picked up milk, then started back. It was beautiful here, even if she couldn't see the stars….

She felt someone put her into a bear hug, and warm breath tickled her ear. "It's all been your fault." He muttered.

She stepped on his foot and he stepped back in pain, allowing enough slack for her to elbow him. He hit her in the face and she kicked him and ran, not stopping until she was upstairs and on the couch of 221 B again.

Both John and Sherlock stared at her.

"what happened?' John asked.

She couldn't answer, she was still gasping for breath.

"She can't talk, her asthma's messing her up again.' Sherlock said, waiting patiently.

She pulled her inhaler form her pocket and took a puff, waiting a minute before she swallowed and spoke.

"David." She muttered.

"what?' Sherlock asked.

"He grabbed me, again…."

"Again?" Sherlock demanded. "you mean, he's done this before, and you haven't told me?"

She nodded sheepishly. "once.'

"Anna, he could have killed you! You're supposed to tell me these things!"

She shrugged, leaning back and closing her eyes. "Look, I just sprinted eight blocks. How about we talk in the morning?"

Sherlock was suddenly concerned as he saw her pale face, and he nodded. She took off her coat and threw it onto a chair, then sat down and learned against him.

"Happy almost Christmas." She muttered.

"Happy birthday." Sherlock said quietly, smiling, as she drifted off to sleep.

"What do you mean by happy birthday?" John asked. Suddenly, he noticed the presents under the small tree they'd erected in happy birthday paper.

"It's her birthday?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. I should have known, too. She always almost gets killed around Christmas time. Ever since she was born."

John raised an eyebrow. "really?'

"Yes, really. For example, on her birthday, she was born two months early in the middle of a blizzard.'

John gaped, and Sherlock laughed at his expression. "It's true. Scared us all to death." He said. Anna still slept soundly against him, and he looked at her for a moment, making sure she wasn't injured. When he was satisfied she wasn't, he sighed.

"David has got to go." He said quietly.

John nodded. "Yes, I agree. He has to slip up sometime, though."

Sherlock nodded, sighing.

He slowly drifted off to sleep with Anna beside him.

* * *

"Merry Christmas." She handed him a wrapped box. "How did you buy these?" John asked.

She shrugged. "Got a job. Not that hard, really. Now, come on, open them."

John opened his to find a new Swiss army knife, and Sherlock found a dagger in his.

"Thanks." John said.

Sherlock smiled. 'From mid-evil times, actually. Where did you get this?"

"The internet.'

Sherlock grinned and handed her a present,. "made it myself."

John wondered for a moment what it was, until he heard Anna squeal in delight. "Nitroglycerin! Thank you! How on earth did you make this?"

Sherlock shrugged as she hugged him. 'I won't tell you; otherwise all our lives will be in danger."

She smiled and gently set it aside. John handed her something, a small box, which she opened carefully. "Earrings! Thanks, John." She hugged him, and he was shocked for a moment, but returned it. It'd been so long since he'd had a hug.

By five Anna was working with a cube of sodium Sherlock got her and making colorful explosions in the kitchen.

John sighed and retired to his room, but he'd smiled at the sight. Almost normal. Well, as normal as a Christmas could be, really, with Sherlock Holmes and his niece.


	31. The Kind of Music Pe

**Chapter 32: The kind of Music People Make**

* * *

"And you say you'll be able to get them to us by tomorrow?" he asked.

The man nodded. "of course I will. And you'll have the entire market of London to yourselves." He handed the man a roll of bank notes, which he quickly pocketed and smiled. "I'll be here.' he assured him, before leaving.

Anna listened to the tea kettle whistling the next morning. She carefully went out into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. She looked at the clock and saw it was half past five.

John winced as he looked up. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No, I was already up." She said. And it was true. Her nightmares still plagued her.

He poured her a cup of tea. "Sugar, right?"

"Yeah, thanks." she paused for a moment to sip her tea.

"Nightmares?" she asked.

John stiffened, but finally nodded. "Yeah. Again."

"Me too."

John looked surprised. "About what? You have nothing to worry about. Unless…are the crime scenes getting to you?"

She shook her head and poured herself more tea. "No. My parents. They die every night in my dreams, again, and I can't stop it…." She set down the tea kettle and stared at the bottom of her cup.

"I'm sorry.' John said quietly.

"No, I know they're dead. It doesn't make it easier, though.' She said, and looked away. John wasn't sure if he saw tears in her eyes or not.

"the worst ones are my brother, though. I don't want him getting blown up. Oh, and you and Sherlock are there, sometimes. I broke your nose last night, actually, when you tried to hold me back from my mum. She was drowning in a river. In the dream, I mean.'

John nodded. "They aren't real, you know." He said quietly, trying to help.

"No, but they still come." She said, finishing her tea.

"Do you like music?" John asked, trying to change the subject.

She nodded quietly.

"What kind?" John asked.

She looked up. "The kind you play."

"I don't play music." John said, confused.

She shook her head. "No. The kind that ordinary people make, not the kind that's written down on paper. I'll show you, if you want."

John nodded. She hesitated as she looked at Sherlock's violin.

'Go on." Sherlock stood in the doorway. "I want to see if you've been practicing."

She gently fingered the neck before she settled instrument under her chin and shoulder. She felt the bow and strings for a moment, then drew across the strings, making It hiss.

Sherlock didn't comment when she looked a bit afraid up at him, only nodded. "Go on. You've only just begun. You've shown me what you can do before."

She turned back to the violin, placing her fingers in the familiar position and drawing back the bow.

Suddenly their was music, like a spark catching and making flame.

Suddenly it was a dance, her fingers flew across the strings, a happy song for a moment, lively like a young love. Then suddenly the dance crashed to a stop, and thunder flew from the strings, a chord that sounded like a screaming child, rain falling, the saddest song people had ever heard. The strings slowed even more to a wailing, small, slow wailing, like that of a child crying for its mother. She stopped and set the violin on the table, then turned to john.

"That's the kind of music people make." She muttered, before going into her room and closing the door.

Sherlock sighed and sat down, plucking the strings of the violin absently.

"It's the first time she's played since her mother died." He said matter-of-factly.

John nodded, too stunned to speak.


	32. Military strategy

**Chapter 33: Military strategy**

* * *

She sat in her room for a moment, thinking. She wished she hadn't set down the violin, wished she could still play it, still get everything out in the notes. But she had. She sighed and flopped back onto her bed.

Charles. This seemed to all revolve around Charles, but he was dead….

Sherlock knocked on her door.

"I know you probably don't feel like talking, but Lestrade says they've arrested six people with LSD this morning.'

She sat bolt upright. How could that be possible?

"Coming." She said, hurrying out behind him.

* * *

"Sherlock, thank gosh you're here. One of the gangs must have succeeded in getting the LSD contract.'

Sherlock nodded. 'I know. It seems like the contact would be dead, though, the Freedom would have killed him….'

'Unless he already is dead…." Anna ventured randomly. Maybe he was dead. Maybe they just hadn't found the body yet.

Sherlock grinned. "Brilliant. When did you figure that out?'

"Figure what out? it was a guess, Sherlock, a guess.'

"Well then you're a bloody good guesser.'

"Explain it to me." she ordered.

"They're different people, Anna. The man on the railroad tracks, Charles, he was found dead later in the city. But yet, someone still managed to get there hands on the LSD. And who's been in the city lately? David. David is the contact, don't you see, it's David!"

Lestrade shook his head. "How do you know?'

"The night David beat me, you would admit he was a little crazy, even for being drunk. He was probably on some sort of drug. And as for his business with my father…." Anna started. " He was in business with Dad because... Dad was not a drug trafficker, he invested in race horses. David needed a cover up! An excuse to send people places internationally for drug runs."

"Exactly."

"And so he was so upset when his cover was taken away, when Dad quit business with him….' she muttered.

"And the groups think he's Charles! But Charles, of course, is dead, so the group he's contracted with can't track him, and neither can the other to kill him. But, he'd have to be Russian, like I said, that Russian billionaire wouldn't have made so much from a shampoo investment….' Sherlock was already on Lestrade's computer.

"What are you two talking about?' Lestrade asked.

Anna sighed. 'the man on the railroad tracks, Charles, he was David a year later. He faked being Charles and dying as a gang member. Now to one gang he's a person who's been declared dead, and to another he's still David, a living man with the perfect alias."

"Yes, it says here, Bruno Sebastian, his younger brother, Charles, killed in gang violence seven years ago. It must have taken him that long to get the cover business, and it must have all fallen apart after he beat you and your father gave away his old cover business." Sherlock said.

Anna nodded. 'and he must have found out in gagslow my father was looking for a partner and faked his own death, then come back to the manor as David. The shampoo business is a cover up."

Sherlock grinned. "brilliant. The only question is, where is he now?"

"I have no idea." Anna said, sitting down heavily in a chair beside him. 'London is too bloody big. If it were back in the dales, we'd just find him at the pub…."

Sherlock sighed. "you're missing the obvious, Anna. His brother's cosmetics business is his cover up for the trafficking. All we need to do is get to his mansion and expose him."

Anna's head snapped up suddenly. "He has a summer house in the Dales, I remember the last name. It all fits now….'

Sherlock turned to Lestrade. "Legally, we've got to have a warrant."

Lestrade nodded. He was already writing it up. "Anderson, get the squad cars ready, will you? Thanks for your help again, guys….'

"We don't get to go?' Anna asked, disappointed.

'of course not, this is police business, Anna." Sherlock said, leading her out.

As soon as they were on the sidewalk, Sherlock went to the garage to get out an old jeep from the rental desk.

"Glad you two finally realized when you're out of your league…." John said.

Sherlock got the keys and turned to john, Anna was already in the back of the car.

"Where are we going?" john asked, surprised.

"The dales of course. Where else would we be going?"

"Sherlock, you are not going to that mansion to expose this guy, and neither is Anna.'

"you're not my legal guardian." Anna said, smiling sweetly. 'And we're going.'

John sighed and got into the passenger seat.

As soon as they were out of the city and on the highway, john looked out the window.

"Now, these Dales, they're pretty remote, aren't they?"

Anna nodded dreamily. "Yes. The road map, it doesn't show the streets, just the town. I know where the summer house is, though. The kids always used to talk about it."

John nodded, not uneasy about having Anna as a navigator, but nervous about what would transpire at the mansion.

* * *

Bruno laughed with his brother as they were brought a lunch of stake and wine.

"Very well played, brother.' Bruno said, toasting his younger sibling.

Charles nodded. 'Yes, I regret not getting to the girl, though. She was the entire reason we almost lost everything.'

Bruno raise his eyebrows. 'be lucky she did not expose you. You were high, and you did beat her up. I hardly see how it is her fault, merely one of your mistakes.'

"Whatever! All that matters it, we have everything now. 'Charles said, smiling and taking a sip of wine.

There was a knock on the door. He heard footsteps on the stairs and the maid looking frantic.

Lestrade flashed his ID. "Scotland yard, you're under arrest, both of you."

A dozen armed soldiers rushed in then, all with assault rifles and bullet proof, no match for Lestrade's automatic pistol. He and Donovan were pinned down and tied to chairs, while Anderson was led away to another room for questioning.

"Maybe we should have let freak come." Donovan muttered. Lestrade nodded grimly.

* * *

"Where next?' Sherlock asked.

"Turn left here, Keep going, it's at a dead end on a hill up here, we have to get over the gate and then it's easy to get in.'

Sherlock nodded. He noticed the squad cars outside.

"Sherlock, Lestrade would have been here an hour before we were if he was allowed to break the speed limit….'

"I know, Anna, I know." Sherlock said, brow crinkling with worry.

'What?' John asked, as they both turned to him.

"you still remember military strategy, right?'


	33. Bored

**Chapter 34: Bored**

* * *

Anna peered through the second story window. She'd scaled a well-pruned ash tree, and she stared inside, seeing Lestrade and Donovan tied to chairs. Anderson was led in then, as well.

She let out a dove call, and john nodded to Sherlock. "now." He said.

They moved to the door and knocked. A rather frazzled looking maid answered, and Sherlock didn't push her away, simply stepped forward. She side-stepped in shock.

Anna was already working on the window lock, slipping her knife under it before popping it open. Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson were alone, and she strode over and started cutting Lestrade's ropes first, since he had always been the kindest to her.

"What are you doing here?' he whispered, once she'd removed his gag.

She simply put a finger to her lips. Just then, the door opened, and she found herself face to face with Bruno and Charles, who was technically now David.

"you…." Charles muttered, fist clenching. Bruno looked merely amused.

"So, you're the one who almost cost us everything.'

"your plan was bound to fail soon, Bruno. It was built on lies.'

Bruno laughed at the spark of defiance in her eyes.

"So, I have a new pet to dispose of. Brother, I believe you've wanted to have it out with her for some time.'

Charles's eyes gleamed as he stepped forward.

"David. Your real name is Charles' Charles's eyes widened with shock.

"Yes, I'm the one who figured it out.' She said.

Lestrade realized she was buying time while she cut more of his ropes, using her left hand.

"And you won't stop me from ending all this.'

David moved forward to grab her and she threw the knife with surprising accuracy, striking him in the right shoulder. The knife stuck, and David screamed. Bruno's eyes widened with shock. He got on his blue tooth. "I need security, now….'

'What's the matter? Too rich to get your hands dirty?' she asked, sweeping David's legs out from underneath him and pulling her knife from his shoulder when he fell. Bruno moved forward to protect his brother, and she saw his gun barrel trained on her.

"I will not hesitate to shoot you, girl.'

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you." She smiled to see Sherlock standing behind Bruno, gun trained on his head.

"you shoot me, I shoot the girl. It's a lovely paradox, isn't it, Mr. Holmes.' Bruno said.

David moved to grab her and she kicked his face. He fell back, blood gushing from his nose, and Bruno's eyes burned. She ducked as he fired, and the bullet shattered the window.

Just then, six of the guards from earlier rushed into the room.

"Peius 'tractare." Anna said, kicking the gun from Bruno's hand and racing past the security guards, four of them going after her. She'd said she'd handle them.

Sherlock was slightly alarmed, but knew Anna could probably be able to take care of herself.

He turned to Bruno and hit him in the jaw, while john raced upstairs and promptly knocked out a guard.

She'd raced down the stairs, past the maid, with four security guards on her tail and ended up in the kitchen. She took a breath as she raced out of it, doubling back. Kitchens were good. She knew of several things that could explode in a kitchen. She lost her way, though, and ended up out on a patio. There was a barbecue to her right, grass to her left, a pool in front of her… and the guards directly behind her.

Propane. She saw the tank by the grill and turned, shooting it just as the guards came out. She was hoping she'd get lucky and the bullet would cause a spark, and it did. She dove into the pool as shrapnel flew everywhere.

* * *

Sherlock and john finished freeing Lestrade, Anderson, and Donovan.

'What about little freak? Four guards went after her.' Donovan said

"She can take care of that.' Sherlock replied.

Lestrade raised his eyebrows. 'Really? you really think so?"

Just then, there was a resounding explosion.

Sherlock nodded. "She just did." He said, turning and rushing down the stairs.

She came inside, victorious and drenched form the pool. All the men had shrapnel wounds and were unconscious, but they weren't fatal. She was alright, too.

Sherlock studied her, making sure there were no injuries. He didn't have to ask if she was alright. He could always tell.

He grinned. "nice work. What did you do?"

"Shot the propane tank on the grill.' She said, setting down her automatic on the table and sitting down. She sighed. "Bored." She muttered.

John rolled his eyes and Sherlock chuckled.

She turned to Lestrade. "Well, aren't you going to go do your policing or whatever, and clean up the mess?'

Lestrade sighed but smiled and went upstairs, Donovan rolling her eyes but following.

She followed Sherlock out the car as an ambulance showed up.


	34. the Manor

**Chapter 35: The Manor**

* * *

Anna settled in the back seat, looking out at the countryside.

'Sherlock, do we have to go back to London tonight?' she asked.

Sherlock studied her wistful face as she leaned, chin on her fist, looking out the window.

"You want to stay at the manor?' he asked.

She nodded. 'Just for a few days, please?"

Sherlock nodded and turned down another street. They were only thirty or so miles off it, anyways.

"That manor?" john asked.

Sherlock nodded "my parent's estate.' He said. "She used to live there. It's nothing much, really, but it's a place to stay."

John nodded, unsure of what to expect. He remained silent until they pulled up the winding dirt road and into the drive.

Anna grinned as she looked up at the massive stone manor. It was surrounded by green fields, the snow was melting, along with two barns to the far right in the distance, a paddock and field with cows grazing, and rolling woodlands in every directions.

"You call this nothing much?" john asked, aghast, as he stared at the majestic estate.

"No. I call it wonderful." Anna said.

She let out a shrill whistle and a dog four feet high rushed towards her, tongue lolling out. She grinned as the great mass of gray fur tackled her and licked her face.

"This is Franklin." she said, introducing john to the massive deer hound.

"And, well, you'll get to know everyone else. "She said, before she turned and started towards the pastures, her dog at her heels.

Sherlock let them in the door, leaving Anna to her own devices.

The butler looked up, surprised. "Sherlock. We weren't expecting you." He said.

Sherlock nodded. "hello, William. We'll just be staying for a few days. Anna's outside, like always."

William nodded. "The rooms are as they were, Sherlock, and shall I show your friend to the guest room?"

"No thank you, William, I still know my way around.' Sherlock said, starting upstairs.

John looked at the old place in wonder. A cheery fire burned in the living room hearth, leading into a formal dining room and kitchen. Sherlock led him up the carpeted stairs to a large room with a remote controlled fire place.

"There's a bathroom off it, and if you need extra blankets or directions around the place you can just ask anyone. Will you be alright here?'

John nodded. "Um… yeah….'

Sherlock nodded curtly, and then left.

John looked out the window to see Anna in the sheep pen with her dog, mucking about. He smiled slightly. It was obvious this place was more a home for the girl than London.

John got up and found Sherlock reading in the study. He hesitantly sat in the leather recliner.

"So, what do you do here?' he asked.

Sherlock shrugged. "Whatever you like, John. You can drive around, hike, ride, if you want to, hunt, do target practice, whatever. You might like the sheep, as well; they're actually quite nice…."

John nodded. "I think I'll go for a walk." he said.

He slipped on his shoes and went out to the sheep pasture.

For once, he could see how Anna had fit in here. Her work boots and jeans, as well as her army coat, seemed to be commonplace here, accepted, normal. She blended in well, unlike she had in London. This was clearly her home.

Franklin, the dog, turned to him, tongue lolling out good-naturedly, and john rubbed his head.

Anna was sitting on the fence, watching the sheep.

"Hello." He said.

She nodded greeting to him, still watching the sheep.

"They're all pregnant.' She said.

John stared. "Pardon?'

"The sheep, john. All the ewes, at least, they'll be having lambs in March.'

John nodded. He could see the large stomachs on the sheep now as they grazed.

"Do you like sheep?" he asked, trying to start conversation.

She turned and laughed. "Of course I like sheep. And horses, and cows, and chickens…. I like everything, john. The cows are what you need to worry about. They're giving birth this season.'

John nodded, taking it all in. it started to grow dark, and clouds filled the sky.

"Time to bring them in." Anna said, just as Abraham, the farm hand, walked up.

"I'm going to bring them in, Abe." She said.

Abe nodded "good girl." He said, smiling. Anna climbed over the fence and opened the gate, and franklin trotted in behind her.

She whistled again, and a German shepherd raced over, as well, tongue lolling out.

She closed the gate.

"Sorry, john, but I'm not sure you can handle it yet.' She said apologetically.

"No problem. Just be careful.'

She nodded.

'Let's go, boys!' she yelled to her dogs.

The sheep lifted their heads as the dogs started barking. She opened the doors to the barn and whistled again.

She ran back away, starting at the end and shoeing the sheep towards the barn door. The dogs helped her, baring their teeth and growling, nipping at the heels of the sheep as they went. As one woolly mass, the sheep approached the barn door.

Every now and then a sheep would slip away, and Anna would branch off and get it, leading it back to the dogs.

One rather unruly sheep tried to butt Anna, and she dodged left and caught him by the hips, lifting him onto her shoulder and carrying him into the barn.

John was surprised she could lift so much, since the sheep looked to weigh at least sixty pounds, but she deposited it inside and closed the barn doors, letting out the dogs. It started to snow.

Dusk had turned to dark now, and she nodded to John. "We have to go back to the manor, now."

"Why?" John asked.

"Supper. It's a long standing rule here, written into the stone of the manor, almost. You always come in for supper."

John nodded and she let the dogs inside, leaving her boots by the door. Dinner smelled wonderful.

"I made your favorite, lassie." Said an old woman whose face crinkled as she smiled.

'Thank you, Greta.' Anna said, sitting down to dinner and eating heartily.

John had never seen her eat much at once.

The meals here were huge, as well, and she finished easily and ate desert. She took a shower and emerged a few minutes later, in her pajamas.

"Night." she said.

"You're going to bed early?" John asked.

"No, days here start at five in the morning; you don't have to get up, if you don't want to, though.' She said. She disappeared upstairs, to her room.

"Days here start at five a.m.?' John asked. Sherlock nodded. "Yes, she helps out with the farm, as you've already seen.'

John nodded dumbly, before finally settling down to read for the night.


	35. An old friend

**Chapter 36: Cows and Chickens**

* * *

He woke to the smell of sausage and coffee, to find Sherlock and Anna, as well as some of the other staff members of the barn sitting around the kitchen table.

"I'll go." Anna said, putting on her boots, leaving her breakfast on the plate.

"Go where?" John asked, walking in.

"Just a calving problem, john, nothing I can't handle." She said.

John wasn't so sure. "Want me to come? I am a doctor, after all."

Anna looked amused but nodded. "Okay. Sherlock, you're coming too, right?"

Sherlock nodded.

On their way out to the barn, john turned to Sherlock. "She doesn't really do the calving, does she?"

"What do you mean by do?"

"You know, stick her hand in the cow and righten things."

"Of course she does." Sherlock said. "She's got small enough hands to, anyways. She does this all the time, or she did. Don't worry about it."

John nodded, but still, he was uneasy.

The cow was huge and bawling, mooing and straining on the barn floor. Anna rolled up her sleeves as she took off her coat.

"Got the water, Abe?"

Abe nodded and handed her a bucket, and she soaped up her hands before inserting her arm into the cow.

She felt carefully for a minute, and then nodded. "Twins. The leg is back on the one, giving her trouble. They're both enormous."

She rinsed her hand of blood again, and reached into the cow once more.

"The muscles will contract, you know, and trap your hand…."

"I know, John…."

She said. She grit her teeth and the cow strained and her hand was crushed against the pelvis.

"Alright, it's alive.' She said.

"How do you know?'

'Because it licked my hand.' She said, sticking her arm in up to the shoulder. "Okay….' She carefully worked with the cow, until she'd correctly positioned the front leg.

'Come on, old girl, you can do it." She muttered, grabbing onto the hoof of the calf and pulling forward. Feeling everything rightened, the cow pushed, and the first calf was deposited onto the hay, dripping wet and large.

"Good girl." Anna praised. Sherlock grabbed some clean hay from a rack and started rubbing the calf down, and the mother cow looked over at it, interested.

"You've still got another one, old girl." Anna reminded her.

The cow strained, and the other calf came as well, a mass of fur, wet and bloody. It mooed, and she allowed Sherlock to wipe it down, as well.

The cow had gotten to her feet by now and was licking each of her calves.

Anna started wiping the fluid and blood from her hands before putting her coat back on.

"Well, much better than a C-section, don't you think john?" She asked.

John was speechless.

"That… that was wonderful.' He said.

'It's commonplace, here, actually. I can tell you were born in London." She said, smiling slightly.

"Alright, Abe, that all you need?' Abe nodded, and she went back to the house and finished her breakfast.

"Do you know how to ride, John?" she asked.

John shrugged. "Not very well, but I can hold onto a horse."

'Good. Want to?'

John shrugged. "Sure. Sherlock, are you coming?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. Winter rides are nice. Will you be riding the Devil, Anna?'

'Of course." She said, placing her dishes in the sink.

"the who?' john n asked. Sherlock shook his head. "You'll find out." He said.

"You ride side saddle, or regular?" she asked.

John shrugged, and she saddled up a gentle horse and handed him eh reigns. "Don't be afraid. He's a lamb." She assured him.

Sherlock rode a dappled gray, and they trotted in a few circles outside.

'Where's Anna?" john asked looking back at the barn warily.

"Oh. She's probably getting on the Devil." Sherlock said.

'The Devil?"

"A wild horse, no one could ride him, except her. He's been unridible since she left, I heard. She'll get on him, though.'

Just then, a blur of hooves and black came charging out of the stable and past them.

"There they go." Sherlock said.

"Where's her saddle?"

"She rides bare back." Sherlock explained. The horse bucked crazily, throwing his feet in the air.

"Why does he do that?' John asked.

Sherlock smiled. "She says he tests anyone who rides him. If you can't hold on, he assumes you're not worthy to ride."

John nodded, holding his breath as the horse reared and bucked crazily, but Anna still kept her hold on him. Finally the horse tossed his head and settled into a gallop.

"Still unridible, eh?' Anna asked as she trotted up.

John shook his head. "You're crazy." He said.

"No, you're just skittish!" she said, before digging her heels into the horse's sides and racing off.

"That's dangerous, isn't it?" John asked. 'I mean, the ground is frozen, they could fall or something."

Sherlock nodded, before bringing his horse into a run after Anna's.

They'd chosen one of the more secluded paths that was already overgrown and wild. The devil leapt over a fallen log, feet hitting the icy path flawlessly as he kept racing forward. She leaned forward on his back, bracing her legs against her sides and grinning as his main whipped back in her face. They started downhill, and she leaned back, not wanting to put extra weight on his front. Suddenly he wheeled around to the right, down a little path, towards s wolf.

The wolf waited until the last second to run, and anna brought the devil to a halt and dismounted, curious.

She looked down at it carefully. It was a deer that had been shot in the leg and hadn't been able to outrun the hungry wolf. The wolf was clearly mad, as well; otherwise it would have run sooner, not just when her horse was barreling towards it.

The wolf emerged from the brush again, snarling at her. She stared at it.

She didn't have her gun, and Sherlock was no doubtt following, but they didn't have a gun either….

She hurriedly swung herself back onto the devil, who backed up. Suddenly there was a shot, and the wolf fell, dead.

She didn't have to bother to look behind her. The wolf had been shot through the eye, and it convulsed a moment before it died. She only knew one person who could shoot like that.

"Zack!"

She turned to see him sitting astride his horse, shotgun aimed where the wolf had fallen.

He lowered the gun and dismounted, starting towards her.

She hugged him, and then pulled away.

"It's been too long.' She said, looking at him.

'It's only been two months." Zack said, setting the rifle down.

"How's Judy?'

"Wonderful, thanks for asking.'

Just then john and Sherlock emerged, john looking anxious.

'Anna? What's going on? We heard a shot."

"This is Zack, an old friend. You've met him before, Sherlock.'

Sherlock nodded coolly to Zack, looking down at the wolf.

'But… wait a minute; I thought you said this was the Holmes estate. Why's he here?' John asked.

"I was chasing down the wolf. It was mad, you know, went at father's sheep last night, and I didn't want it coming back."

Anna nodded. "Of course. You know you're always welcome here, Zack.'

Zack nodded. "For that I'm grateful. It's been awhile, but they're madness among the wolves now days. I'd keep a gun on me if I were you.'

She nodded, looking towards his white and brown spotted gelding. "I see Ginger's leg has healed.'

Zack nodded. "I see the devil remains your loyal horse.'

She smiled. "Of course he would. Has the town changed much? We came the back way, so I haven't seen it….'

"I'll take you, if you want."

She nodded, clucking to the Devil. "Come on, going to town." She said.

"I'll see you later." She said to Sherlock, before they started down the path at a canter and disappeared from sight.

"Who is that boy?" john asked, a bit nervous.

"Zack. He's her best friend. Incredible character, really, they've gotten in and out of all sorts of scrapes together.'

John nodded. "Think they'll be alright together? I mean, the boy was on the property without permission."

"He knows he's always welcome, John, like I said. He's well liked here, and besides that, one mad wolf can wipe out an entire farm. It was necessary."

John nodded, and they started back towards the manor.

"So, how've you been?" Zack asked as they trotted carefully down the icy roads towards town.

"Oh, haven't done anything much."

"You're lying." Zack said.

"How did you infer that? We both know it's impossible to tell I'm lying."

Zack cracked a smile "I read about you in the papers. Seems like you're a big shot in London now."

She sighed, shaking her head. 'I don't like London, Zack. It's so crowded and Smokey, I feel so locked up, it's like I can't breathe. Sherlock is kind to me, of course, and the murder cases are always interesting, but it's so… confining."

'You always were wild." Zack said, chirruping to ginger to hurry up as an angry squirrel chattered from a tree.

"Not wild. More enjoying freedom. I could ride before you could, let's not forget.'

"By riding do you mean jumping onto a horse's back?"

"Saddles are boring.' She said. "If I were ever out on the praries of America, I might need to tame a mustang…."

"When would you be on the prairie?" Zack asked, amused.

"I never said I would, but we never thought I'd end up in London, did we?'

"No, we certainly didn't." he said. He was silent for a moment, and she knew they were only a few minutes from town.

"The church is having a dance soon." He said finally. "They need a fiddler, and you can play."

"Sherlock will play. He's better than I am.'

Zack shrugged. "Alright. Oh, and Widow Edwards, she's having trouble with her chickens. I said I'd mend the coop today. Would you like to help?"

"You didn't even have to ask."

As soon as they started down the street, people out for a morning stroll or walking their dogs looked up.

It wasn't unusual to see a young lady astride a horse, but most rode behind the male, on his horse, and it was unusual to see a girl riding bare back, on a horse without bridle or bit, and doing so with such ease and grace.

"It's the fiddler!" Cried a young girl, pointing.

"Judy! Her name is Anna!" Anna smiled at her nickname and Zack blushed as they rode past. "My sister's leaned to talk. She knows far too much, if you ask me." He said. She smiled and didn't reply.

The widow's house was on the edge of the village with a beautiful view. She'd lost her husband years ago and she had a flock of well-maintained chickens, as well as a goat and a sheep.

"Hello, Zachary." She said, squinting through her glasses. "And hello, Anna. Good to see you haven't forgotten this town.'

'I'd never forget it Ms. Edwards. And anyhow, I have to take care of your chickens with Zack.'

Zack nodded, and smiled, before going into her garden shed. They found some of Mr. Edward's old tools and started working with some nails.

"The hinges have rusted out." Zack said, pointing. She nodded. "Yes, and the coop is pretty small as well. We could add some boxes if… hang on a second…."

"You thinking of getting crates from market?"

She nodded and they wordlessly left for a few moments.

"Hello, Ben. Have any old crates we can have?" she asked the shop keeper.

Ben smiled. 'Sure I do, fiddler. You going to be at the church dance?" she nodded, smiling. "Sherlock's in town, though. He'll be playing, I bet."

Ben nodded, stopping to get some old wooden crates "What you plan to do with these, anyways?"

"Using them for Widow Edward's chicken coop" Anna said, and nodded thanks to ben before leaving, arms full of crates.

"Okay, so now, we pull off the one wall and put the crates up like boxes, and then they have new nest boxes and a larger coop."

Zack nodded and they pried out the old rotted boards and went to work.

The chickens clucked and chirped as they watched them, and finally, they replaced the hay inside and white washed it.

'There, I think that went well." Zack said. Anna nodded. "Smells better, too."

She and Zack burst out laughing and widow Edwards started out.

'You've done wonderfully. "She said. "I'm afraid I can't pay you…."

"You know we don't need money, Ms. Edwards. We were just bored and you offered us something to do. Better than being idle all day.' Zack said.

Anna nodded her agreement and smiled. They both knew the Widow was tight on money as it was, and she depended on her small flock.

"Yes, well, at least come up and have a cup of tea and some biscuits with me. It's the least I can do.'

They agreed, both knowing the widow was lonely as well as frail.

"So, I've noticed you're going to have young sheep soon."

The widow nodded eyes alight. 'Yes. I bought a male sheep quite cheap, you know, and Ms. Wooly is bound to have a good amount of lambs, since she's so young…."

'Yes, that should be wonderful." Anna agreed, taking a sip of tea. 'Where will you put them, though?"

The widow's face fell. "I haven't thought of it yet." She admitted.

"We have spare space at the manor, and Zack and I can get some more wood and make a few more stalls." Anna offered.

The widow brightened. "You are angles, aren't you? And, in the paper. I've hear you're getting quite a reputation, young lady.'

She smiled. 'Well, I can't stay out of trouble in the city, Ms. Edwards. I get bored and there are no chicken coops to mend there….'

They all laughed, and suddenly Ms. Edwards turned solemn.

"Do you like the city, Dearie? It must be nice….'

"I miss it here, actually. It's too big there, too hurried, too close together. We'll be staying here for two weeks, probably, I'm sure."

The widow nodded, and they chatted on for the next few minutes before they said there farewells and found there horses waiting outside.

"She'll need the new stalls soon.' Anna said worriedly.

Zack nodded. "We can get the wood from our old barn. It's ready to fall down, anyways; we have no use for it."

Anna nodded, slightly sad. 'I loved that old barn, didn't you?"

They'd spent so much time in there together, playing soldier and looking around the open fields, throwing fake bombs at fake enemies on hot summer days and playing pirate in the old hayloft.

'Then again, you did fall through the floor and break your arm.'

Anna rolled her eyes. 'Whatever. I meant to do that."

"Yes, that's why you screamed.'

"It was all part of my plan.' She said.

Zack smiled and rolled his eyes. 'Whatever. When do you want to get the wood? Now or later?"

She shrugged. "How about later. You said the woods were filled with mad wolves, and I don't like that Idea. Might was well get as many as we can now.'

Zack nodded. "I'll ask father to borrow his shotgun." He said, handing his own to Anna as they stopped outside his farm.


	36. If Youre going to kiss me, do it

**Chapter 37: If you're gonig to kiss me, do it**

* * *

She leaned t against eh barn and rubbed Ginger and Devil down, before settling them both in there stalls with some hay. She knew Devil would be content here until she returned.

"Farther says to be back by ten. And to be careful. We stay near each other, right?" she nodded.

"Of course. I still remember the woods, Zack, it's not like I'll get lost."

Zack nodded, before they started off down the woodland path.

Not long after that, they came across a shaggy looking wolf, clearly mad, and shot it, as well as two others.

By the time they'd gathered the carcasses and dragged them somewhat near the edge of the woods, it was well after dark.

"We should probably be getting back." Zack said.

She nodded. "I'll ride out tomorrow and we'll start to work on the old barn, alright?'

Zack nodded, throwing two wolf carcasses over his shoulder with one hand and carrying his gun with the other. Anna carried the third carcass, sluing over her shoulder, and held her gun ready.

"If we see another wolf, you'll be the one to shoot at it." Zack reminded her.

"I know, I know." She said. They trooped silently back towards home in the moonlight. It was probably well past nine.

They were just crossing the large field that was Zack's backyard when they heard the snarl.

"Drop the carcasses." She ordered zack. He obeyed, grabbing up his gun and moving beside her as she did the same.

"There's a wolf in the pasture, isn't there?' he whispered.

"Yes, trying to get into the barn. Come on."

They carefully moved closer to the barn, and she could see the yellow eyes glinting. The wolf didn't even notice them, he was so crazed.

Just then, she heard the roar of another wolf.

"Zack, behind you!"

Zack whirled and the wolf by the barn started running at them, as well as another wolf. They both shot at the same time, both wolves falling far too close to them for comfort.

One wolf started convulsing ten feet from Anna. She put another bullet into it and it stopped.

"They both dead?" Zack asked.

She nodded. "Yeah…" they were both breathing heavily and a bit shaken up.

Zack grinned. "Just like old times, I see, always getting into trouble.'

"Hey, I killed my wolf faster than you killed yours."

"Then why'd you put another bullet through it?'

"To kill it faster."

"Zack, Anna?" they both recognized the voice of Zack's mother. A moment later, a lantern light bobbed out, as Zack's father, along with Sherlock, came towards them.

"Are you two alright?' Zack's father asked.

Zack nodded nudging the wolf beside him with his foot to make sure it was dead.

"Just had to finish off some wolves by the barn, Dad.' He said.

Anna nodded and slung two carcasses over her shoulder, starting towards the barn door where they always kept game.

"You going to let the lady carry all them wolves by herself, Zack?' Zack's father asked teasingly. Zack blushed in the moonlight.

'Wait up, Anna." He called after her, grabbing three carcasses and starting towards the barn himself.

"I see they still get into as many scrapes as they used to." Sherlock commented to Zack's father. He'd come down looking for her At John's anxious request, but he knew it would take some time for them to gather up the carcasses.

Zack's father nodded. "Yes, I swear, she's as good a shot as any man. Did you see the way she killed that wolf?"

"Yes, Zack did quite a good job, as well." Sherlock pointed out.

"Yes, but they each knew a wolf was charging the both of them, yet they trusted the other enough to handle their own wolf and didn't turn around. It's probably the only reason they didn't get mauled."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, they always were close."

"Let's go inside, before the missus has a heart attack."

Sherlock nodded and followed Zack's father back inside.

Anna had lit a lantern in the barn and sat beside the newly killed wolf, expertly gutting it. Zack looked over at her in the lamplight.

"You know, when those two wolves were after us, you didn't panic and turn."

"No, I didn't because I knew you could handle the one on your side, and I had to take the one on mine."

"Most girls wouldn't do that, you know."

"Do what? Everyone trusts you, Zack."

"No. Most girls just wouldn't. Wouldn't ride a wild horse bareback, wouldn't wolf hunt like you do, and wouldn't learn how to use a gun as well as you can. Girls out here know how to work, but none of them work like you do."

She blushed slightly. "We should probably burn the carcasses. They are rabid, and all."

Zack nodded. "Dad and I will do it in the morning." He said, not meeting her eyes.

"If you're going to kiss me, you might as well."

Zack looked up, surprised, but he gently planted his lips on hers. When he looked up, she was smiling. "Thank you. I can read your mind, you know.'

"Cannot.'

"Can too. And, by the way, I've wanted to do this for a while.' She leaning forward and kissed him back, before she blew out the lantern and went to tell Sherlock they'd taken care of the wolves, leaving Zack staring after her in the barn.

She went to the stable where the horses were kept and whistled to Sherlock, signaling they were done. It had been there call to one another, when out in the woods. If one person was wondering where the other was, they'd whistle, and the other would reply.

She'd gotten off this habit a little in London, since they were almost always together, but still, Sherlock answered it with his own whistle. She knew he was saying goodbye to Zack's parents, and she dug her heels into the side of the Devil, before galloping off into the night.

She didn't know why she'd gone off, except to say she didn't feel like riding with Sherlock, wanted to be alone. The kiss, it had felt so good, she felt warm inside, wanted to whoop for Joy, but instead she allowed the Devil to go faster, running n at an incredibly fast speed, her hair flying out behind her, and she let go of his neck, feeling the risk of every moment flying off his back into the darkness below….

She grabbed ahold of the Devil's neck suddenly and turned him right, so they'd go the long way back to the Holmes manor. She needed time now, to just think. The devil understood but didn't slow his incredibly terrifying pace, and she wasn't afraid. She felt his mane whip on her face, smelled him as his muscles flexed, working hard to bring her up the steep slope.

What would father say? She wondered. But she knew her father had liked Zack, remembered him smiling as the two of them would go out hunting together. Or when they'd be in the yard, climbing the Hickory trees and picking nuts or racing one another on the horses. And she knew Zack liked her.

Devil turned up and decided to turn down a woodland path on his own, and she didn't mind. She liked the path, and the Devil cleared a fallen log, jarring her in her seat. She loved the danger of riding in the dark.

A few minutes later she burst out of the clearing, onto the Holmes estate, and galloped the devil in a wide circle before allowing him to slow to a canter and enter the stable.

He was frothing at the mouth and sweaty, and she rubbed him down and gave him fresh water and oats.

He was tired from the run, but happy, she could tell. He hardly ever got to show his skill with a rider on his back- they'd all fall off.

"Good boy.' She praised him cheerfully, before starting back for the house. It was late, and tomorrow she'd have to be up early again to go out with Zack. She was asleep as soon as she hit the pillow.


	37. Not a boy

**Chapter 38: Not a boy!**

* * *

"Sherlock, the church is having a dance in two days; they want you to play the violin."

Sherlock nodded, sipping his coffee as he read the paper. John was still trying got figure out the little town.

"Where are you going?" john asked, as she placed her dishes in the sink and started slipping on her work boots.

"Going with Zack, helping the Widow Edwards. Oh, might have to bring my gun."

Sherlock nodded, while john's eyes widened in alarm.

"What?"

"Well, there are rabid wolves you know…. "

Sherlock nodded. 'You have your automatic with you? And ammo?"

She nodded. "Yes, I do. Greta, Zack might come to lunch, if you don't mind."

"Not at all, Dearie.' The elderly cook said, wrinkles on her face creasing as she smiled.

"And I'll see you all at lunch.' She said, before she started out the door.

"Does she ever stay indoors?' John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, she's a country girl, John. I'd let her drink it in while she's here."

John nodded slowly. He was getting used to relaxing.

She easily mounted the Devil and kicked him off. She saw a blur of brown and white as she let him burst from the stable, and the heat of someone running beside her in the wind.

She smiled. Ginger and Zack, of course.

She slowly lifted her hands from the Devil's neck, and Zack saw her daring and went to do the same when suddenly she lost her balance when the Devil went unexpectedly faster.

She was about to hit the ground when she felt a hand grab her and pull her up. She was behind Zack in an instant, and he slowed Ginger down to a trot.

"Always have to be daring, don't we." He said, smiling slightly.

'I… yeah. Thanks.' She said, a bit dazed.

Zack could tell his best friend was still a bit shocked. "Are you alright?'

"Yes, I'm fine.'

"Good. I figured we might work on trick riding today, before we get the wood, but if you don't want to….'

She shook her head. "No. The Devil was just reminding me I'm not his master." She said, sliding off Ginger and waiting for the Devil to return to she could mount again.

They started at a brisk trot away from the manor before they let there horses run loose again. Anna was sure to hold onto the Devil this time.

Within a few minutes, they'd reached the old pasture far off from Zack's house. It wasn't fenced in, and they sometimes let the sheep grazed there if they were about to watch and make sure none of them strayed.

Anna looked up at the old rotting barn as they approached it and smiled. It was just as she remembered. Falling in on itself, unsafe, with only a few rafters remaining and almost open to the wind.

She smiled and climbed the rusted ladder behind Zack, starting to remove some of the boards that weren't rotten.

They left the horses to graze in the field while they worked.

Finally, around noontime, Zack stood, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I think we've got enough wood, don't you?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I'd say so. Trick riding, then.'

Zack grinned and they began talking horses as they climbed down from the loft, carrying boards as they went, on the many trips.

"It'll be harder for you to ride and do some tricks, since you don't have a bridle on the Devil." Zack said.

She shrugged. "I don't care. I can probably ride backwards on him, and stand up, and I can jump off and mount easily."

Zack nodded. "What about you jumping from the Devil onto Ginger?"

She looked hesitant. 'Why not you jumping onto the Devil?'

"Because he doesn't have a saddle. It would be a hard landing.' Zack said.

She nodded. "Alright, then, I guess. We'll ride it slow at first, right?"

Zack nodded. "Of course we will." He said.

They cantered the horses beside one another and Anna crouched and stood. They were only a few feet apart, but the Devil's gait made it hard to stand.

Zack held the reins with one hand and held out his hand with another, smiling encouragingly. She jumped, his hand grabbing her and swinging her onto the back of ginger behind him.

The Devil, feeling the weight lifted from his back, galloped faster, and Ginger raced to keep up.

When the horses finally slowed enough for them both to jump off, they did, and landing in the grass, breathless and laughing.

"They'll always be racing one another." Zack said.

"yes, but ginger is getting faster.' Anna said. "But the Devil has something wild in him, and he runs faster without a saddle.'

Zack nodded. "I know. I take it he was never broken in as a colt."

"A colt? He was even wilder then. I'd say he's mellowed with age.'

The both shared another laugh before waiting for the horses to stop racing and loading the boards across the rumps of both horses. They walked them in a slow trot, so as not to upset the boards, and started back towards Zack's house.

Then they trotted to the widows and left the wood by her barn, since she was at the church.

They rode back to find Zack's parents and little Judy getting out of an old ford.

"Fiddler!" Judy cried, toddling over to the Devil on her wobbly legs. She'd just turned three, if Anna remembered right.

The Devil stood stock still as the little girl grabbed onto his legs and leaned onto him for support.

'Hello, Judy." She said, looking into the deep blue eyes.

"Are you going to fiddle? Daddy says you can play it on the roof.'

"Judy. Come off it now, it's a movie, not a trick."

Judy still waited for an answer

She sighed and smiled. "No, Judy, Sherlock will be playing at the church dance tomorrow.'

"Big fiddler?"

"Yes, big fiddler."

"Yay!" Judy ran back to her father, and Zack rolled his eyes and blushed slightly.

"Sorry about her. She's so bothersome. Wants to be a part of everything."

He gently started ginger into a trot down towards their favorite path, by the old stream.

'She's just curious, is all. When you're three, everything seems new."

Zack shrugged. "Yes, but she thinks she can do everything and she can't."

"Well, I always think I can do things I can't. Like when I wanted to get the honey from that bees nest on the roof…."

Zack sighed. "Don't remind me. The point is, you're less annoying and more capable."

'Thanks, I guess.' She said, nudging him playfully as they came up on the stream.

"You'll miss lambing.' Zack said, looking at her as she avoided his eyes.

She nodded, pretending to work a snarl from the devil's well-groomed coat.

"Yes, I suppose I will…."

"You always loved spring the most. Spring and fall.' Zack said, looking at the budding tree branches.

She didn't answer, and suddenly she dug her heels into the Devil's sides and spurred him on. He splashed through the water, across the river, and Zack was so shocked her didn't have time to follow after her.

"Anna! Wait! Please.'

But she didn't, only forced the Devil to gallop again through the woods, letting the branches rake her face and hair, until she'd reached the old ruins of a house she and Zack liked to explore. She sighed and sat down on the roof, then realized it was almost supper time, and started for home.

She was unusually quiet at dinner that night, and went to bed even earlier. Church was the next day, after all, and the dance.

Zack probably wouldn't go with her, though, since she'd left him yesterday. It had hit her full force yesterday that she wouldn't be here much longer, would have to go and be part of London again not get to see the green….

It had wounded something inside her, and suddenly she'd had to go, be alone, go fast, or she feared she'd burst. And now Zack probably hated her and she was alone.

The next day, she wanted nothing more than to sit out in the stable and cry. For a girl to leave her boyfriend standing somewhere and not come back was unheard of out here, in the simple country ways. Even if no one knew Zack was her boyfriend, he undoubtedly thought her behavior was beyond rude, as she herself did.

But she pasted a smile on her face and dressed in a dress that had belonged to her mother, since she felt she wanted nothing more than to blend in with the other girls at church today.

She sat through the service, noticing Zack and his family across the room from them, but didn't lift her eyes to see him. She felt terrible.

Around six, after people had time to go home, eat a light lunch, and change into different clothes, the dance began.

It was in the old city hall, to celebrate the coming of spring soon. Everyone knew Sherlock was the best fiddle player around, and he actually played well the fast dances they had here, John realized.

He was shocked when a red-haired young lady about his age asked him to dance.

"I… of course." He said, and before he knew it, she was out on the floor with him.

Anna stood on the side of it all, praying Zack would come to see her but still to reluctant to believe he would. She'd left him there, after all, what reason had he to come after her? For all he knew she was just a brat who ran off for no reason. But something deep inside her told her it wasn't true.

Someone suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled her out onto the dance floor, and she was too shocked to resist for a moment.

She looked up to see Edgar, a boy from school, holding her hand.

She hadn't particularly liked Edgar. He was known for killing runt piglets by beating them, not simply using an axe or breaking the neck, and though he didn't know it, she'd been the one to push him into poison ivy so he had left school before he could drown a litter of stray kittens in the rain barrel out back.

He was also drunk. Completely, incredibly drunk.

He smiled dumbly at her. "I haven't seen you here in a while, girl.'

She elected to keep her mouth closed and suddenly Edgar moved in close. She instantly stepped back, almost bumping into another dancer, and Edger scowled. "Come on, dance." He said. She wanted to shudder, but she didn't.

She wanted to walk away, and she turned and slipped off the floor, praying he wouldn't follow, gently pulling her arm from his grasp.

She slipped outside, into the cold. Her breath was a cloud, and she was freezing, but it was better than being inside with Edgar.

A moment later she heard heavy footsteps and Edgar marched out, red in the face.

"You just leave me out there, alone!?" he demanded.

She still didn't answer. She wanted nothing more than to punch him, but she couldn't, it wasn't the appropriate thing for a girl to do in this situation. She'd already ruined her situation with Zack, she wasn't going to screw up her life more.

"Answer me!"

Suddenly, Edgar had her pinned against the wall. She stared and started to squirm. Knowing she couldn't retaliate was making her panic.  
"You will dance with me, girl." Edgar said coldly.

Suddenly there was a rush of movement, and Edgar was on the ground, Zack on top of him, a string of curse words flying from his mouth.

"If you ever lay one filthy hand on her again, I was gut you and feed you to wolves, you arrogant…."

She stared for a moment, and Edgar threw a punch which Zack easily blocked, putting him in a choke hold until he was unconscious.

He stood and brushed himself off.

"Are you alright?' he asked.

She nodded dumbly.

"Speak to me, please or I'll go get your uncle.' Zack said, looking worried.

"I… I thought you hated me.' She said.

Zack raised his eyebrows. 'For what, yesterday? No, never. I was worried, was all? What's going on with you? You run off yesterday, and then I find you here, dancing with Edgar against your will….'

"He dragged me onto the floor." She explained, and sighed. "I thought you were mad at me for running off yesterday. I was just upset I'd blown you off, and then Edgar came…."

Zack nodded, placing his coat around her shoulders. "Come on, let's get you inside. It's freezing out here.'

She hesitated.

'You don't want to go back in there, do you?'

She shook her head. 'No… I'd much rather stay out here."

"Will you dance with me, then?' Zack asked.

She nodded and he gently took her hands, making sure to keep distance from her. She realized how strong he'd gotten by the way his hands dwarfed hers, how muscular he looked under his dress shirt.

She laid her head on his shoulder after a while, and then she heard people talking. Around ten, people started filing out, and Zack led her over to where the Devil and ginger were waiting.

"You look half frozen.' He remarked, studying her worriedly.

"I'm fine." She had the hazy memory of him asking her numerous times if she was warm enough.

"No, you're not."

Edgar's friends had found his unconscious form and had figured he'd passed out due to drunkenness. They were currently throwing him over the rump of his horse.

Zack's father came out, looking around, as though for him.

"Dad, I'll be home soon. I have to take Anna home. Tell Mr. Holmes, will you?'

He helped her onto ginger. They were silent on the ride home, and Zack, ever the gentlemen, helped her down. The devil, knowing his place and not in need of any care the stable hands couldn't give him, trotted off towards the barn.

They stood outside for a moment, not knowing what to say, when suddenly she kissed him.

"Good night.'

"Yes, goodnight, Miss Holmes…." He said.

She stared but blushed for a moment, before going inside, feeling a whole lot warmer than she had been a few minutes ago.

Sherlock and John arrived home a few minutes later, and John found her sitting by the fire, a mug of tea in her hands.

"Where were you?" he demanded, running a hand through his hair.

She shrugged. "Here. Zack brought me home."

"You shouldn't have been out alone." John admonished.

"Good night." She said dreamily, before she went upstairs and disappeared into her room.

John stared uneasily after her.

"I don't like it." He said quietly.

"don't like what?' asked Sherlock, sitting down.

"That boy she's with. He seems nice enough; but did you see how she was just now she was so out of it…. You don't think he's hurt her, do you?'

Sherlock laughed. "Zack would do nothing of the sort. I seem to remember him carrying her back to the manor, about eight miles when they were younger, because she had broken her leg."

John sighed. He still felt uneasy, having a boy so near around all the time with Anna. "You don't think there's something she's not telling us, do you?'

Sherlock shrugged. "What's there to hide? She's best friends with someone. I thought you said she should have more friends her age, john."

"But not a boy!" john said, frustrated.

"So you want to choose her friends then, do you?'

John sighed. "You know what, forget about it. Just forget it. That boy seems to be far too close to her, though.'

She'd taken a hot shower and she felt much better. She fell into her bed and crawled under the covers, allowing a girlish giggle escape her lips before she drifted off to sleep.


	38. Dont Tell John

**Chapter 39: don't tell John**

* * *

The next morning she rose early, as always, and finished breakfast, slipping on her boots.

"Where are you going?' John asked aloud.

"To see Zack." She said, not bothering with goodbyes as she left.

She rode up on the devil through a small woodland path, not waiting but surprised when she heard raised voices. She brought the devil to a halt, listening.

"Not in a million years, you bloody horse apple!" she recognized Zack's father yelling.

"Be reasonable, Mr. Taylor, this is a great sum! What of your family? Buy them a nice place in London, you could, with all that!"

She saw Zack's father, Mr. Taylor, turning red as an apple. "A flat in London! A flat in London! It's a sty, man, all cooped up and trashy! No, what we have we've built with our own two hands, and we'll keep it that way! Good day sir!"

He stormed back inside. Just then, Zack came riding up from the barn.

He saw her standing and sighed. She kicked the Devil into a trot beside him.

"How much did you hear?' he asked.

"Most of it. Who is that man?'

Zack shrugged. "Harvard Brewer, he says. Whenever one of the little farms out here fails, he scoops it up and turns it industrial like. He's amazed with Dad's place, wants to buy it. He's been at it for a month now."

She nodded, a bit disturbed.

"Come off it, now, we still have to build those stalls." Zack said. She nodded but she was still disheartened at what she heard.

"You won't sell it, will you?"

Zack scoffed. "Never, Anna, you know that. Brewer will have to pry the deed from my dead hands."

She hated the picture his words panted, and she sat up a little straighter, still not talking.

Zack sighed. "Fine, be that way, all worried. I'm not. Let's go get those stalls built."

By noon, they were done.

Just then. Zack's father came riding up, breathless. His horse was sweating fiercely.

"Zack, have you seen Judy?" he demanded.

Zack shook his head, turning stark white. "No…." he muttered.

Within the hour, there were search parties sent out to all the local areas.

"How long has she been missing for?" Anna demanded.

"Three hours. We've searched all over the property.' Zack's father said, disheartened. "If Harvard took her, I will kill him…."

She nodded, turning to a worried Zack.

"We'll find her, Zack, don't worry. Someone's already been sent to the manor to get Sherlock, right?"

Zack nodded grimly.

She grasped his hand as she mounted the devil.

"We'll find her. I promise." She said, before digging her heels into the devil.

She rode to the manor and quickly got Franklin, her dog, as well as all the other hunting dogs to follow her down again. Zack's mother let each dog sniff of a piece of Judy's dirty clothing, and Anna nodded to them.

"Hunt up." She said. They dogs raced off into the woods.

Zack's mother kept her eyes dry, and she rode after the dogs, each delicately sniffing until they found a trail.

Roger, a man Sherlock had gone to high school with, knocked gravely on the door a few moments before Anna arrived.

"Hello, Roger."

"Sherlock, you know little Judy Taylor, Zack's sister?"

"Yes, of course I do. Is there something wrong?"

"She's missing. We need men to search. Will you come?"

"Of course." Anna rode up just then, whistling for her dogs and riding back out with them.

"John, we have to go somewhere."

John nodded and quickly got up. They all mounted before riding to town.

Though cars were common on the dales, in the last stretch of winter and summer, horses were the method of choice for riding through the woods.

Sherlock didn't have to ask. He knew Anna would be on the search party, along with some of the other more daring girls in town.

Franklin bayed and she followed the sound of him, coming through the brush after him on the devil easily.

They'd been at it for three hours now, going for at least miles. Much farther than any three year old could wander. Yet she didn't doubt Franklin. He could pick up a two day trail in dry weather and lead her to a wolf, so she had no doubt he was leading her to Judy.

The other dogs had all given up and returned to the Taylor's residence to sit by Mrs. Taylor and comfort her as she sat straight, waiting for news.

She hadn't cried, but she had gone through many hardships before, and she knew she wouldn't be upset until news was brought.

Franklin barked again and splashed across a river, spending a few minutes snuffling until he picked up the trail again.

He led her to a rock out cropping and barked, pawing the ground.

She felt her throat tighten for a minute. Was Judy dead and in a shallow grave? No. She forced the thought from her mind. Judy wouldn't be dead, if she'd been taken someone had wanted her for something, especially if it was Harvard, who might exchange her father's land. But she had the feeling something wasn't right.

She dismounted the Devil and started feeling along the walls until she found a small space, a cave, about a foot off the ground by her feet. It went in deeper than she could reach, but she heard small crying from inside it.

"Judy? Judy, can you hear me?"

She couldn't believe the wave of relief that came over her when she heard Judy's crying. At least she was alive, even if she was hurt.

Judy sniffed, and she realized Judy was too afraid to speak, so she gently crawled into the cave.

"Judy? Judy, talk to me, please." She said, looking around in the darkness. Any manor of creatures could be in here besides her and Judy.

'Fiddler… I w-want mommy…." Judy cried.

"We'll take you back, I promise." She said, reaching out and finding Judy's long locks of hair in her hand.

She felt through the darkness until her hand gotten a grip on Judy's and sung a Latin son as she coaxed Judy out of the cave.

As soon as Judy saw sunlight, she cried out in pain. She quickly removed her coat and placed it over Judy's head. Light sensitivity, combined with the paleness and shakiness of Judy's walk and her fussiness meant one thing- concussion.

She didn't want to jostle Judy any more than was necessary, but she knew it would be best to get her to town fast, on the Devil, to be sure there was no brain injury.

"It's alright, Judy." She spoke gently as she climbed onto the devil, the shaking girl in her lap.

"Franklin, good boy. Go back to the Taylor's.'

Franklin obeyed, trotting ahead of the horse but keeping them in his sight.

She chirruped to the devil, which started out at a fast trot, keeping his gait gentle. He could tell he had precious cargo on his back now.

She rode up to the Taylor's a half hour later, finding the men on horseback in a circle. "John!" she saw john and rode over, knowing he'd be the one to take Judy to.

John hurriedly dismounted and rushed towards them, along with Mr. Taylor and some other men.

"Is she alright?" Mr. Taylor asked.

'Concussion, I think, found her in a cave. She hasn't been talking much. John, can you check on her?"

John nodded and quickly examined Judy. He nodded.

"Yes, concussion. Keep her warm and such. Mr. Taylor, if you'll bring her inside I'll start her on painkillers. Anna, go back to the manor."

"But John…."

"I said go back. Look, if someone kidnapped a three year old, they might want another girl, as well. Go."

She pursed her lips but obeyed, knowing the faster she obeyed the faster John would attend to Judy.

She put the Devil in the stable and rubbed him down, giving him a bran mash, fresh water, and two apples.

"You were such a good horse." She said, patting him as he ate.

Then, she went inside the manor, ditching her wet coat and boots by the door.

She noticed Franklin looking bedraggled and tired after his long hunt for Judy.

Greta came out, face creased with worry. "Anna, darling, did they find her?"

She nodded. "Franklin tracked her down. Can you get him a plate of beef and gravy, please, the works. He ran himself ragged, but he found her."

Greta smiled and nodded, hurrying into the kitchen, while she got a wet cloth and startled to wipe the devil's feet.

Between his paws ice and all manner of thorns and thistles had been caught, and she slowly pryed them out and washed them, then moved to his dirty coat, sponging him down and brushing his long, scraggly fur, then drying it.

By this time the devil could smell his meal being made in the kitchen, and his ears perked up.

"It's not ready yet, buddy.' She admonished him, kneeling down and rubbing his massive head. "But you were such a good boy today. Such a good boy! You found Judy; you were such a good, good boy!"

The door opened, and she turned to see Zack standing there.

She quickly stood. "how is she?' she asked, suddenly worried.

Zack shrugged. "Concussion, like you said, your doctor fellow is looking after her now. She doesn't remember much of what happened, just remembers you coming and getting her. Thank you."

She shrugged. "I didn't do anything. Franklin did all the work, along with the devil."

Greta set down Franklin's plate, and he dove in, gravy getting on his long fur, and she smiled as she looked down at him. There was something grim about Zack, however.

"What is it?"

"That fellow, Harvard, he was taken to jail. He's the main suspect, you know. They found him at home with his lady, however."

"Zack, Harvard is annoying, but it hardly seems likely that he'd take Judy and leave her out there…."

"I know. That's what's bothering me. He might be a pest, but he isn't brutal."

"So who took her, then?"

Zack sighed. I don't know. That's what I came to ask about. I know it's been awhile since we've solved anything together, and I know this isn't like your big city mysteries, but…."

"Zack, this is far better than a city mystery." She assured him. "I'd give anything in the world to solve this one. But your mum…."

Zack nodded. "Yes, she wants me close, ever since Judy was taken, as does father. I can tell this business about Harvard doesn't sit right with him, either, but I'm afraid I'm to return straight home after I came to thank you.'

She nodded. "Yes, john wants me to stay out of trouble, he's afraid some disgraceful lowlife is after girls."

Zack suddenly looked concerned. "Then don't go out! Blimey, I always forget you're a girl!"

She smiled. "Will this remind you?' she asked stepping forward and kissing him. He nodded dumbly.

"I'm going out. It's a mystery, Zack, and I'm going to solve it. Sherlock does the ones in the city, mostly, but this is my turf, and I intend to keep it safe.'

'You will be careful. Won't you?'

"Of course I will. Now get on home before your mum gets worried.'

Zack slowly left, and she turned and saw Greta standing in the doorway, wrinkles creased as she smiled.

"How much of that did you hear?" she asked, a bit shocked.

"All of it." Greta said, smiling.

She sighed. "Look, Greta, please, don't tell john. He's so worried already; he's likely to lock me in my bedroom if I tell him this.'

Greta nodded. "You come to me if you need help, though. You know Greta is always ready.'

'Yes, Greta, I do. But I have to go. Thank you."

Greta smiled as Anna donned a dry coat and started out the door.


	39. Stumped

She rode on a different horse, a white one, this time, since she'd already pushed the devil hard that day. As she rode, with a saddle this time, and bridle, since this horse wouldn't ride without, she thought.

Harvard was innocent, she'd already gauged that by his posture and motives, but she couldn't think of another suspect. There was literally no one. She knew people here who she rather disliked, but they had no reason to want the land unless there was oil underneath it or something, which there wasn't.

She sighed as she rode past the drive to Taylor's house, careful not to let John know she was out. Sherlock was probably there, as well, talking. He got on well with the people out here, since they understood his plainness and manner.

She couldn't think of another place to go, so she wheeled the horse around through the woods and back to the old barn, thinking. She didn't have enough information, that was certain. She needed something, something more.

She climbed onto the exposed beams in the loft of the barn and stared out at the blue sky, closing her eyes.

Every memory she'd ever had with Zack flashed before her eyes.

She stopped at one in particular, one of his grandfather. He'd died when she and Zack were six, but she remembered the stories he used to tell.

_"My grandfather, your great, great, great grandfather, Zack, he lived in London. He made a good living as a store keeper, and he accepted payment in an odd way. He was a kind man, and he'd accept whatever they had to pay with. Hens, chickens, calves, I believe in dire situations, he'd even accept gold for a good bit o' credit in the place. Then, he passed on his wealth to his son, who grew tired of London, and started this farm out here. It's said he hid the heirlooms when thieving came around, and died before he could get them back again."_

Her eyes flew open. It was dark out, she realized, had been for a while. It was colder, and she was shivering. It had taken hours to sift through the memories. But the heirlooms, whatever they were, had to be worth something. And someone, the man who took Judy, must have known what they were and wanted to distract people so he could get them, sneak onto the property unnoticed and find them. At that moment, she saw a figure in the darkness, in the field below, searching under an old cabin that had fallen over in the distance.

Slowly, she slipped down and started across the ground towards the figure, yes trained on him, fingering her automatic.

"Freeze."  
The man, whoever he was, whirled and punched her in the jaw so hard she blacked out.

She woke shivering, realizing she was on the ground. Slowly, memories came back.

She heard hoof beats and suddenly Zack was on ginger beside her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, kneeling beside her.

She nodded, everything was still hazy. She struggled to recall memories.

"Zack, the heirlooms…. He was after them…. Oh gosh…." She felt terrible, like she was going to black out, and she couldn't breath. She coughed and spit blood and mucus onto the snow.

Zack's eyes widened and he helped her onto his horse. "I wondered where you were. You're lucky I saw the horse you ride besides the Devil before john did. He came back, and I figured you were here and found you."

She nodded. "Can you take me to the manor, before John finds out?'

Zack nodded and kicked ginger, spurring her onward.

She went into the back door, nodding to Zack before she disappeared upstairs and into her room.

She took a scalding shower until she was sure her body temperature was over ninety five and she got dressed. She coughed, feeling her head ache, as well as her chest. She spit more phlegm into the sink and splashed water onto her face before falling into bed and letting sleep relax her.

She woke up at five the next day feeling slightly better, itching to go see Zack and talk about the heirlooms. But she accidentally fell asleep for another hour or so, and got up around seven next, going down to breakfast.

She scarfed it down quickly, so John wouldn't see she'd slept late and be concerned, and left before Sherlock had time to speak to her.

She met Zack on the road, riding her way.

"Are you alright?' he asked.

She nodded. "Yes, fine. Last night, the heirlooms, remember the story your grandfather told us?"

Zack nodded. "Well, someone must have found out and figured they were hidden on the property and wanted to get them. That's why they went the kidnapped Judy yesterday. To create a distraction so he'd be able to search. That's why I blacked out last night. I was in the barn thinking when I saw them, and they knocked me out.'

Zack's eyes widened. "So, it wasn't Harvard. It couldn't be, since he wanted to industrialize it, like he did the others.'

"Exactly. So all we have to do is catch the person, figure out who the heck he is and how he knows, and we clear Harvard's name."

Zack nodded. "His trial is on Friday.'

'Well, we can find whoever it was by then.' She assured him.

Then she remembered. Trials were public. Practically the entire town would be there.

'wait a minute, Zack, if the heirlooms were hidden here, and everyone is going to the trial, whoever it was who took Judy to frame Harvard will come and try to get them."

"You're right." Zack turned his horse down a valley road, and she followed with the Devil.

"so, who would take a child and risk her life for their own personal gain?' she wondered aloud.

Zack shrugged. "I have no idea. It's a small town, though, and we can't just run around accusing people.'

"It could have been the Daniels. Maybe they had something to do with it.'

Zack shook his head. "You know, my grandfather said that the old man had a business partner, but they split after the man started trying to cheat with the butcher's scales.'

"so, maybe whoever it is the old partner.'

"Yes, his store used to be called Taylor and Wigsly, I think.'

"Well, no one here had the last name Wigsly, so we're stuck again. It was probably changed in marriage, is my best guess. He had a daughter who married. Its probably lost, now.'

Zack nodded "yes, probably is, but me still might find something else. Never know. So we're back to judging people b character.'

"Could be the Williamsons."

"Yes, it definitely could be."

She sighed. "Zack, this is hopeless. Let's just find the heirlooms ourselves before they do. When people here about it, the person will come and try to steal them. Then we clear Harvard's name.'

Zack nodded. "Alright, sounds about all we can do… unless…."

They sat in the parlor of the widow Edward's, each drinking a mug of hot tea.

"How have you two been?' she asked happily.

"Fine, Ms. Edwards. Have you heard of anyone named Wigsly?"

The widow thought for a moment, then nodded. 'Yes, actually, Betty Wigsly. She was somewhere along the line of the Tarmes, I think, a great grandfather or something. Why?'

She shrugged. 'Curious." They continued visiting and finally got away a half hour later.

"The Tarmes!" Zack said, staring. He shook his head. "No, I don't believe it, I really don't. After all, Mr. Tarmes is kind and has five children."

"He has enough to live on, but maybe he wanted more. I hate the thought of it as much as you do, Zack, but he might be the one. We should keep tabs on him.'

Zack nodded glumly. "I still don't believe it.' He muttered.

Zack carefully hiked around his property that night, while she sat lying in wait astride the devil, well out of sight by the Tarmes' home, waiting. The rooms glowed with lights, and she knew Mr. Tarmes would have had to have gotten a horse from the stable if he were to leave, since he didn't own a car, and all is horses remained in place throughout the night. When dawn began to break she turned the devil around until she reached Zack's property.

"He came tonight." Zack said matter of factly.

"Was it the Tarmes's?"

"No, he never left. All his horses still at the stable."

"Good. Because the person I saw was a lanky fellow. He tried searching under the chicken coop and then I set a dog on him. It might have bitten him."

She nodded. "Was he hurt? If he was injured badly enough, he might need a doctor, and then we could clear Harvard's name."

Zack shook his head. "No, wasn't hurt bad. Besides, it's Wednesday today, technically. How do we find him within forty-eight hours?"

Anna shrugged. "I've done worse before. Besides, we have to find him. I have to be home for breakfast, or john will be worried."

Zack nodded, and they said their goodbyes and each rode off.

She was silent at breakfast, trying to think, figure things out, when she remembered the Widow Edwards. She sighed. She had to go and finish building the extra stalls, even if there was a more pressing matter. Zack would probably have remembered by now and already gone, too.

To her surprise, Zack wasn't there, but she set about to finishing the stalls anyways.

All they needed were hinges, besides, and she got up and left before she finished, she was so distracted.

She sighed. Of course, the cases that she couldn't solve were the ones most important. Nothing was more important here than Zack, and yet she'd failed him. She sighed, before spending the rest of the day with the sheep, trying to think.


	40. A Discovery and a parting of ways

Thursday went by without a hint, as well, and it wasn't until Friday morning, at nine, as the trial was beginning, that she remembered she had to put hinges onto the stall doors for the widow.

She figured the widow would be at the trial, as was the rest of the town, too, and she finished just as she heard a clanking.

"Hello, dearie.' Widow Edwards said, smiling at her.

"I just remembered, you know the wigsly's? Well, that girl, Betty Wigsly? She had a sister, Jessica, and she married someone along the line of Lucensisses. Great great great grandmother to Edgar, I think.'

She stared. "Thanks, Ms. Edwards. That was all I needed to know.'

She jumped onto the Devil, kicking him to a gallop, leaving a bewildered widow looking after her.

"Zack!" she pounded on the barn door, where she knew Zack would be lying in wait for the thief.

"Zack! The person who was related to the wigsly's, the one who still hates your family for all of the splitting the partnership, it's Edgar! Edgar's great grandmother was a Wigsly!? Betty Wigsly had a sister, Jessica… Edgar was her grandson or great grandson or whatever. It's Edgar!"

Zack stared, then grabbed ginger and pounded towards the courthouse alongside her.

They entered in the middle of the trial, breathless. Just then, before Anna could speak, Zack grabbed her arm and dragged her out again, the door slamming shut behind them.

'What is it?" demanded Anna, as soon as they were outside.

"Edgar was in there, it wouldn't be him. He'd have taken the opportunity to go and try and get the heirlooms by now.'

Anna sighed. "Then who the heck is it?"

Suddenly, then both remembered. "William.' They said in unison.

William was Edgar's father, a hard, bitter man, who had always tried to spit tobacco juice at them as children and expressed a special hatred for them. Now they knew why.

"We have to get back to the farm." Zack said, mounting ginger.

"Why did you ever leave?" Anna admonished him.

'Because I thought you solved it!"

"Well, we both know I'm not always right.' She said, swinging onto the Devil and setting him off at a fierce gallop towards the Taylor's farm.

They rode up to the old barn just in time to see William turn around. There was fear in his eyes for a moment, and then he smiled. "Hello, Zack, your father asked me to come up here….'

Suddenly, he knocked Anna off her horse and onto the ground, putting his knife to her throat.

"Tell me where it is, or she dies.'

"I don't know where it is." Zack said calmly. "Put the knife down, and I can look in certain places.'

William shook his head. "No. you will tell me, now.'

Zack shook his head. "I don't know…."

William scoffed. "Fine, then.' He shoved Anna into the barn, pulling out a pack of matches. He used some old rope to tie her arms and legs, before tethering her to the stall. He did the same with Zack.

"Nothing like two lovers to go out together." He said, smiling. "Playing with matches. He struck a match and lit the barn on fire, throwing down the rest beside them before walking out.

They both stared as the flame caught and started to catch, slowly consuming the barn. The smoke was thick and choking, and Anna quickly handed Zack a knife as flames rose around them.

"Cut the ropes." She said. Zack obeyed, cutting hers first before freeing himself. The smoke was so acrid it was hard to think straight.

"We're considered witnesses, that's why William wants us dead. He wants this to look like an accident. We have to get to the courthouse.'

Zack nodded and they crawled across the hot floor, kicking through the rotted boards in the back so they'd be unseen for a few minutes.

Anna let out a whistle, and the devil rushed to her, as did ginger, looking warily at the fire.

They each mounted and raced off, leaving William to stare and then mount his chestnut gelding to race after them.

"He's following us.' Zack said, chancing a glance behind them.

"That's the idea.' she said, turning the Devil around a sharp curve.

"We have to go to the courthouse. He's not too bright- he'll follow at all costs. We are witnesses, after all.'

Zack nodded, before kicking ginger to a faster run.

They'd barely dismounted when William shot off three times, bullets striking the brick courthouse and ricocheting. Zack pulled Anna down with him, before staggering into the courthouse and slamming the door.

People were staring, by now, and she saw Harvard at the stand, pale and shaking.

"Harvard, you're innocent." Anna said brightly, as William ran inside, knife ready.

"You idiots!" he yelled, putting the knife to Anna's throat. "No stupid girl bests me!"

Anna seemed relatively unbothered by this.

"Mr. Taylor, your old barn is on fire. It's his fault.'

Mr. Taylor nodded, and murmuring broke out in the court.

"Order! Order!" the judge banged the gavel.

"Ms. Holmes, do you care to explain what is going on here?"

"Sure.' She knocked William's knife away and took Zack's hand, dragging him to the front of the room.

"This is Zack Taylor.' She said, though everyone already knew him.

'Say hi, Zack.'

'Hi." Zack said, waving slightly.

"Now, he can explain everything, so take it away.' She said, sitting down in the front row.

Zack stared at her, shocked, and she smiled.

Guards had already cuffed William.

"Um… Okay, I'll start at the beginning. My great great great grandfather was a shopkeeper in London. He split with his partner and made out well with items trading and such, then gave it to his son, who started our family farm. His partner hated him, and had a son, who had a daughter whose last name was changed through marriage. They were raised with a constant hatred for us Taylors, and we didn't know it, but William's mother was related to them, and passed on her hatred down the line. As I mentioned before, the old man traded for rings and other things, and it was said he hid them when thieving came about in town. He got sick and died before he could find them, he said. William kidnapped my younger sister on Monday and left her far away, using her to frame Harvard as a kidnapper, since he wanted to buy our land, and it appeared Harvard had the perfect motive. Then, during the trial, he went, while everyone was out at the trial, to search our property for the heirlooms, but we intercepted him. Oh, and dad, yes, the barn is still on fire."

A chuckle arose from the crowd, and Anna smiled slightly.

"Oh, and he knocked Anna unconscious while she was walking around the property alone."

John stared daggers at Anna who only shrugged. The judge nodded. "Miss Holmes, care to testify?'

"Sure, Harry… I mean your honor." She said, causing the crowd to smile slightly.

"What he said.' She said, and then sighed. "Oh, and Harvard, you might not be guilty, but you are incredibly annoying. "She stepped off the stand and smiled, taking Zack's hand.

"I hate it when you do that.' Zack whispered.

"Do what?' she whispered back.

"Totally steal my thunder with your cuteness.'

She smiled and then left the courthouse with him, though she knew it technically wasn't protocol, she didn't care. She slipped behind the building and kissed him.

"Here they were." She said, smiling, tossing Zack the small sack she'd found under the ashen remains of the barn. 'Under the floor board."

Zack poured out the contents to find at least ten pounds of rings and gold chains. "Wow….'

* * *

"I don't want to leave." She said, sighing as she looked into Zack's eyes.

'I know, but London needs you." Zack said, smiling slightly. "You'll come visit, I'm sure.'

She nodded. "Yes, I suppose. But I won't be able to do this.' She kissed Zack long on the lips, and he hugged her. "E-mail me, alright?'

"Of course.' She promised, before she disappeared into the car and they pulled away.

"Well, that was a quaint little mystery." John said.

Anna nodded. "We used to do that all the time, burst into the court house with the real criminal."

John nodded. He had to admit, Anna had a unique way with the people here.

She sighed as slowly, the landscape melted back into that of London, bustling, busy, bright lights.

By the time they'd reached London, it was well into the night, but Anna entered 221 B again.

London was busy, yes, and it wasn't her home, but she was beginning to get used to it. Besides, it was a city full of adventure, so as long as it stood, she'd keep coming back for more.


	41. A bit clingy

Anna didn't look up as John entered the flat; she was still engrossed with a microscope slide. She'd been bored out of her mind until she'd gotten her new ninth grade school books in the post, and she was working on biology now.

"How are you doing?" John asked.

She shrugged. John looked over at a workbook she'd left on the couch. It was on Russian.

"Why don't you work on this? Not just devour every science book you can get your hands on.'

"Because I already did." She muttered.

John flipped through to find the book finished. She'd finished it all in a few hours yesterday.

John shot Sherlock a questioning look.

Sherlock shrugged. 'She speaks Russian, Latin, English, Spanish, Arabic, Arabic, and French fluently."

Anna scrawled something in a notebook and sighed.

"Why hasn't anyone been murdered yet? I mean, I know it's not socially acceptable to ask that, but really? Can't some idiot do something? I'm bored!" she tossed aside her biology book and flopped onto the couch.

"Why not get a hobby?' John suggested.

She looked at him, her head cocked to one side. "Murder study is my hobby.' She said, before her eyes closed and she sighed again.

Sherlock chuckled.

"That's mildly disturbing…." John said.

Anna shrugged and grabbed her laptop. "Does computer programming count as a hobby?"

John nodded, "yeah, I guess it does, actually….'

"Great. I hacked Anderson's Facebook page last night. He just posted he loves Justin Beiber. If he gets really mean, then I'll post that he's having an affair with Donovan. It's true, after all."

Sherlock laughed. "You are dangerous when you're bored. See, John, and you thought things would be more interesting if we had gotten a dog."

Anna gave John a glance before turning back to the laptop.

John rolled his eyes. "I did not say that, Anna, before you came I was thinking about getting a dog, figured we'd have some companionship. But now that you're here, we don't need one.'

She nodded and kept typing.

"Anderson's so annoying…. His new profile picture is of a hobo…." She grinned before casting the laptop aside.

"I think I've done enough damage for that. Lestrade get any cases lately?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, none he's called me about, but check up on it, will you?'

She nodded and grabbed the laptop again, fingers flying across the keys.

"He's got three cases and a ton of cold cases that he has going on….'

John stared over her shoulder. "You just hacked into the Scotland yard system, didn't you?'

"Yes." She said, smiling.

"That's illegal!"

'Well, technically, so is carrying a pistol ion public, but we do that all the time.'

"That's because we're with the Scotland Yard."

Anna's mobile rang, and she answered.

"Hello? Mark! Oh my gosh, how have you been?"

John smiled slightly, knowing Anna was talking to her brother, who was in Afghanistan.

"Tell me everything! No, I haven't shot anyone, came close to it last week, though…. No, I haven't sustained any injuries… come on, tell me!'

John shook his head and started reading the paper.

She stayed in her room for the next two hours, until Mark's prepaid card ran out and he had to hang up. She sighed, bored. She missed her brother, but then again, he'd be home in a month and a half, about. A moment later, her mobile vibrated.

**Need you on a case. Don't tell Sherlock. Harvestaff Bakery, ten minutes.**

**-Lestrade**

She slipped her mobile into her pocket before she left wordlessly. Sherlock didn't are as long as she texted him every twenty four hours and came but once every two days.

She went the back way towards the bakery, ducking into a side alley, knowing that was where Scotland Yard employees mainly met wi9th contacts.

She entered and suddenly her mobile dinged again.

**Need help. Don't tell Sherlock. At harverstaff bakery, ASAP.**

**-Lestrade**

She stared at her mobile for a minute, the answer flying through her mind. She ducked a split second before a knife would have entered her throat, and it hit the brick wall behind her with a clang.

She ducked to the side and removed he own knife, studying the assailant. Twenty three year old male, face covered by black paint.

He looked shocked she'd ducked, and he moved to grab her, but she kicked him in the groin and slammed him head into the wall before pinning his arms behind his back.

Her attacker fell unconscious, and she jumped and whirled when Lestrade came out behind her.

"What the….?"

"He attacked me. Who is he? He sent me a fake text, claiming he was you. I realized it a split second before he would have killed me.'

Lestrade was still taking everything in, staring down at him. "I… I don't know."

She dusted herself off. "Alright. Take him into custody, then. What was the case you wanted me to do?'

Lestrade shook his head. "Nothing, never mind it, get on home. Sherlock wants you to be with him on cases, anyways.'

"Then why'd you send the text?'

"Because I assumed you wouldn't almost get killed." He said. She rolled her eyes before walking back to the flat and writing murder stories for the rest of the day.

"we had a report of hikers coming out after seeing a body, somewhere along the trail. Not sure if it's fresh or not, they didn't get close enough to see. And the k-9 units are off commission today, so we have to find it ourselves."

Sherlock nodded. "Anna, think you can find the body?"

She nodded and silently stepped into the woods.

She noticed things no one else did, Sherlock knew.

It came from years of being raised in the Yorkshire dales, countless nights out hunting with dogs, listening to them baying after prey. It came from watching the sun come up while sitting in a tree, waiting for a buck to walk by with a prized rack for the mantle.

It came from everything she had ever done her first ten years of life, really, now that Sherlock thought about it.

She had been born in the country, raised on a farm, and spent hours in the woods.

He'd done the same as a boy, as well, but he wasn't as obsessed with the woods as she was Every now and then, he missed the woods, the Holmes manor and the freedom of open space, but not like Anna.

So he was content to allow her to track.

"it was around Sparrow's bend, if it helps."

Anna nodded, glancing at the map, then at the sky, and entering the forest soundlessly. Her work boots and father's army coat didn't look out of place for once, and her feet didn't leave any tract on the wet ground.

Donovan, Anderson, and Lestrade followed on behind, with Sherlock and john watching her as she went.

She was oblivious to everyone, now, Sherlock knew, oblivious to Donovan staggering and grumbling through the trail that his niece found easy to walk, not noticing of John and Lestrade's expectant stares or the annoyed look Anderson had.

Suddenly a bird called out, and she smiled, placing a hand to her lips and bending the fingers intricately.

She called out the exact same sound as she walked, and a moment later a curious bird landed on the tree in front of her. He let out a different call, this time, and again she duplicated it.

Donovan rolled her eyes. "So little freak can do tricks." She muttered, before she tripped on a root and nearly fell. Sherlock hid his smile. Sometimes life was fair.

About an hour alter, Anna stopped.

"What's with you?" Anderson asked. "We're not at sparrow's bend yet."

"Blood." She muttered, looking around.

"What? There is no blood!" Anderson said, frustrated.

She turned to him, looking oblivious still. "I can smell it.'

"she what?" Donovan asked, looking shocked.

Sherlock sighed. "She's been raised in the dales, Sally, she hunted for most of her life. She's good at tracking a blood trail and she can smell blood relatively well, when she's close to it."

"someone touched this tree with their bear hand, I can see the effects of the oils on the skin on the bark…." She muttered.

She was already moving through the brush.

"can she really smell blood?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock nodded slightly. "To some extent, yes. You'd be able to, as well, if you'd tracked deer by a blood trail your whole life. Besides, the wind is this direction, they're probably a pool of I somewhere and she remembered the scent."

Lestrade nodded, taking it in. "She certainly is unique."

"of course she is, Lestrade. She's a Holmes." Sherlock said, smiling slightly.

John was engrossed in watching her track. He knew she was adept in the woods, but he'd never seen her so animated, so focused before.

"Cigarette butt two feet to the right, smoker, idiot, too, could have set the entire place on fire if it were dry out." She muttered, before she kept going.

"smell it now, any of you lot? The blood. We're close."

Lestrade sniffed. He could smell a bit of it, he realized, he just hadn't picked it out.

"Strand of hair down there… leaves overturned, they started scuffling…."

She started to run the next fifteen feet and rounded a tree, finding the body.

"Here' She said, her face growing serious as she looked down at the body.

It was a young woman, about twenty three, chestnut hair, blue eyes glassed over. There was a knife in her abdomen.

"She's been dead for a few hours…. The killer's still in the woods."

Lestrade nodded. "Fan out. Check in every half hour. Anna, you stay with someone, alright?"

"She can go by herself, Lestrade. The woods are alright for her." Sherlock said, and Lestrade nodded.

She'd already left, and was starting through the brush.

"why would you let her go by herself?' Donovan demanded. "Last time you flipped out when we took her on a case without you."

"the woods is her turf, Sally, she knows what she's doing. Besides, the murderer will make noise, and she'll be able to hear it, since she's keen on hunting and tracking and such. In London she's a bit different, it's more dangerous there.'

Sally rolled her eyes. "you don't even care about her.' She muttered, before she started off.

Anderson started off with her.

"Shall we split up, then?' Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "Sounds good to me." He agreed. He was a bit worried about Anna, so he started on a path parallel to her.

He could have sworn he heard movement and he tensed, then realized it was probably just Anna ahead of him.

He started forward easily, hoping to walk with her and make sure she was alright.

Suddenly, he remembered Anna moved soundlessly in the woods.

A girl tackled him the next instant, and there was a knife at his throat.

He felt shock and fear run through him, and his first instinct was to fight, when he realized this girl was like the twin on the victim, who was dead.

"Don't scream." The girl said, but she must have realized John would cry out if she slit his throat, since she slammed his head against the tree trunk.

Colors of pain flashed before his eyes as she slammed him again, and again….

Suddenly she'd dropped him, and his eyes were barely open. She must have thought he was unconscious, and now she was going to kill him.

Suddenly he heard a grunt as someone collided with someone else.

He could make out Anna, knees on the girl's chest, knife to her throat.

"_You broke john!"_ she yelled, in a voice so laced with anger it shocked john.

The girl stared. John saw the knife she'd been holding was now in Anna's hand.

Anna swore. "I should kill you right now, you stupid, worthless….'

She punched the girl, hard, and slammed her elbow into her face.

The girl had started screaming by now, and Anna put her into a choke-hold until she blacked out.

"John? John, don't be broken…." She pleaded, kneeling in front of him and shaking him.

"Come on, john, come on. I'm bleeding from my Femoral artery or whatever, I'm going to die!'

"What!?" john hadn't seen her wounded, but he knew it was serious if she had been hurt, and he snapped form half-consciousness to full alert.

Anna sighed with relief. "Alright, so you're not broken."

"People don't break, Anna." John said, sitting up. "They get injured."

"Injured, broken, same different. The murderer killed her twin. Interesting…. Did she hurt you?'

John shook his head, a bit embarrassed he'd had to have a thirteen year old come to his defense.

"No. you?"

She shook her head. "No."

Just then, Sherlock came into the clearing, along with the others.

"Found her." Anna said, before swinging up into a tree and watching from a height that John thought was a bit dangerous.

But he realized something odd. She'd actually come for him, not sat back and watched things unfold. And he's seen her, heard her, practically losing her mind because she though he was hurt. In fact, if she hadn't been too quick to leave the girl and make sure he was alright, he was sure she'd have done a lot more than just knock her out.

So she cared. Then again, both her parents were dead, she was bound to be a bit clingy. And now she kept her distance from him, up in the tree, looking down easily, waiting for it to be over.


	42. Her Father

She sat up in the tree, looking at the blood on her sleeve. It really wasn't bad, at least, she couldn't see bone, so it didn't seem too bad. She hadn't thought to mention it to john, either, since she'd been too preoccupied at protecting him.

Besides, he'd just fuss over her, and that was the last thing she needed, if he'd seen her freaking out. She'd slightly lost her mind a bit and panicked when she saw John on the ground, motionless.

Her sleeve was obviously going to give her away, though, and she carefully turned to the side when Sherlock called for her to get down, jumping the last fifteen feet and landing beside Donovan, making her jump.

It worked as a distraction like she'd hoped, and they didn't notice her bloody sleeve.

She knew Lestrade would sort things out soon enough and text her what happened. She always liked to know the details, and she slipped into the bathroom and started rinsing the wound.

It was actually very bloody, and she felt lightheaded for a second, before she grabbed some rubbing alcohol and doused the wound in it, gritting her teeth against the burning and slapping a gauze pad on it, before slipping back into her room and using duct-tape to secure it to her upper arm and flopping onto her bed.

It hurt, but she knew it would stop soon. She hoped it would, anyways.

She felt dizzy again, and wondered if it was because of because of the blood loss.

She bit her lip and took a few breaths, trying to read. The words swam before her eyes, and she pulled on a sweater to hide the crude bandage.

She finally closed her eyes and let sleep take her away.

* * *

"Anna, dinner's here. I got Chinese take away." John said, looking in to find her asleep on her bed.

He smiled slightly. He would have let her sleep, since she was up at all odd hours and he never knew when she'd be asleep or awake, when he remembered she'd declined breakfast and lunch this morning since they had a case.

"Hey… wake up, Anna." He gently shook her.

He noticed how pale she was, suddenly.

Her eyes opened for a minute, and John saw her sleeve was soaked through with blood.

He swore.

"Hang on a second." He muttered, picking her up. She was incredibly light, probably around eighty pounds, but then again, she was incredibly small for her age.

She didn't struggle, either, as he carried her. She seemed subdued, which alarmed him even more.

John shook his head, setting her down in a chair by the table. "I'll be back in a second, alright?'

She nodded groggily.

John hurried to his room and got his medical bag, sighing. Sherlock wasn't here, of course he wasn't. He would have known before anyone else would have that she was hurt and hiding it. He could always tell. He must not have thought she'd been hurting, must not have deduced it before he went to the morgue to study the body.

John hurried back to the table.

"You're wearing something under the sweater, right?"

She nodded again groggily, and she clumsily took it off to show a white t-shirt underneath.

There was her gauze pad and duct tape, soaked through with blood.

John swore again.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"I stole the acid from your chemistry set when you were six." She mumbled.

"What? You know what, never mind."

She wasn't making sense, John realized, and he took off her own rough bandage. The duct tape peeled easily, since it, too, was soaked through with blood.

He pulled on some white gloves and grabbed a needle and thread.

"And I set your teddy bear on fire on purpose, that one time." She muttered, before resting her head down on the table.

John disinfected the wound and injected her with the painkillers, then quickly started stitching.

"And…" she giggled. "I put worms in your ant farm! It was a community, then!"

"I'm sure you did." John said, sponging off the wound and gently continuing stitches.

Twenty stitches later, he was done.

"you alright?' he asked.

She nodded.

"Are you hungry? Do you need anything?'

She shook her head, still groggy.

"Don't go, Mark." She muttered, crawling onto his lap and abruptly falling asleep.

John stared for a moment, then smiled slightly. So that was why she'd said all those things that didn't make sense. She was so groggy she though he was her brother.

Mark was due home in two weeks now, as well….

He gently placed a bandage over the wound before gently carrying her to the couch and sitting down. She curled against him, like he'd only seen her do with Sherlock before. Maybe she was getting used to him, now, warming up to him being around….

Sherlock entered.

He studied then both for a minute, Anna's bandage and john sitting with her in his lap.

"Is she alright?"

John nodded. "She was bleeding and she didn't tell me. She was all confused, thought I was her brother….'

Sherlock nodded. "Mark will be back next week, you know.'

John nodded.

"Would you mind if he stayed here for a week or two, just until he found a flat or something?'

John shook his head. 'No, not at all. How old is he, again?"

"Eighteen, six three, looks remarkably like her father."

John nodded. "And her father is?"

"Shut up mark, you know Daddy…." Anna muttered in her sleep. "Sergeant George Reen…." She said in a sing-song voice.

John paled suddenly.

"John?" Sherlock asked, a bit surprised.

"George Reen…" john swore.

"Did you know him, John?"

John nodded. "Yeah, Yeah, I did. He was in my regiment, fell on a grenade, saved us all. I had to inform the family…."

He looked down at Anna, who was still sleeping in his lap.

_"Miss, I'm sorry to inform you…." His voice cracked, and the woman nodded, tears in her eyes._

_They were at a small summer cottage by the lake, he'd been told, on vacation._

_He noticed the two children behind her. One was obviously George's son, he looked about twelve, had his father's build and look. The girl took after her mother, but she had something in her eyes, a certain flame, like George's, as well as his hair._

_"he's not coming home." The boy said quietly, tears falling down his face, to the girl. She was small, tiny, really._

_She ran outside, past them all, crashing through the woods. The boy came back a few hours later, with her asleep in his arms, her eye lids red and puffy and covered in dirt and grime._

At the time John had only remembered his own pain, his own sorrow, the horrors brought by every night…. But now he remembered the little girl with green eyes. He was looking at her.

John swore again. "I saw it, gosh dang it, I had to tell them, and she ran away so we didn't see her cry….'

Sherlock nodded. "She does that, sometimes…. It wasn't your fault, John."

"Don't tell me it wasn't my fault! I should have been the one to take the grenade! I have no one, no family, nothing! He had kids to raise, a family….'

"And he would have wanted you to take care of her now." Sherlock said sharply, knowing this was the only way to shake his companion from the past.

"He took it because he wanted to take it, knew it was the thing he had to do, and he did. What's past is past, and he took it so you could live, took it so you could have your life, and so don't waste it obsessing over the past. He would have wanted you to do two things, though. He would have wanted you to be there, for his family, and you were, and he would have wanted you to move on."

John shook his head. "I wasn't there for them, I was terrible, I was so insane…."

"You did the best you could, then. You can't expect to be taken from a war zone to having the perfect empathetic mind, you know, it's almost psychologically impossible. Oh, and she'll want you to tell her the stories, John, stories about her father."

John nodded slowly, and they both sat after that, in the silence, just thinking.

"So, what happened last night? Lestrade texted the details, right?"

John sighed, handing her a cup of tea. 'Well, first off, you almost bled to death, since you didn't tell me that the murder cut you."

"it was just a scrape.'

"That required twenty stitches." John said. "honestly, tell me next time. You don't remember anything from last night, do you?'

She shook her head, and John felt slightly relieved. He wasn't sure he wanted to relive his tours of duty again by telling her about her father.

"Here's the gist of it." Sherlock said.

"The girl killed her twin sister, her name's Savanna Jay. No one knows why, either, she has no mental disorders, no motive, nothing."

Anna nodded. "Alright. She had to have a motive, though, if she didn't have a mental problem. You don't just stab someone."

Sherlock nodded. "I agree. The question is, what? She had a boyfriend, her sister had a boyfriend, you told me girls like to fight over boys, and anyways, her life is almost perfect. What could be wrong with that?"

Anna shrugged. "no idea. Hang on a second…."

She Googled the both boyfriends. "they've all liked this page about some political things…."

She handed the laptop to Sherlock, who nodded.

"Alright. They're in custody now, you realize, at least, the girl is."

Anna nodded. "Yes. Isn't there supposed to be some rally against this policy they're supporting today?'

Sherlock nodded. "They've planned something there, I bet."

John nodded, texting Lestrade. The rally was canceled.

"So, now what? We can't take the boyfriends into custody until we have evidence. Are they trying to start a radical political group or something?"

Sherlock nodded. "Probably like the hippies and the Vietnam war. Except they'll use violence to get what they want."

"I bet she killed her sister because she didn't want to be violent and was going to rat them out."

"Probably." Sherlock said, texting Lestrade again. "Well, that was boring. Seems like everyone wants to be a terrorist these days, always trying to use violence to get what they want."

Anna nodded. "nutters. So, what are we doing today? Knife throwing?'

Sherlock handed her a fencing foil. "Use your left hand, since your stitches will mess up your right one. It's about time I taught you how to sword fight, anyways.'

"Shouldn't she be working on schoolwork?" John asked, raising an eyebrow.

"This is a learning experience, John." He said.

John rolled his eyes. "I don't think she'll every need it…."

"Well when will I need to use geometry?" she asked, and she locked foils with Sherlock.


	43. Mark

Three days later, they were examining the body of a male splayed ou on the floor of the morgue. He'd been killed here, ironically, blood splattered around him like paint, the bashing in of his skull testament to his gruesome murder.

"Figure anything out, yet?' Lestrade asked.

"Give me a minute…." Sherlock said, staring.

They were all so engrossed they didn't hear the footsteps of someone on the tile floor.

"Hello?"

Anna whirled to find Mark literally feet from her, in his uniform, still.

"I haven't seen you in awhile, reckless." Mark said, picking her up and swinging her around.

finally, after a moment, he set ehr down. They were both breathing heavily from excitement.

She grinned. "you weren't supposed to be back for three days!"

"Yes, we finished up early." he said "my gosh, you've grown, what, a foot?"

"wait, wait, who is this, and why is he on the crime scene?' Anderson asked, slightly unnerved by the display of affection between Anna and this person.

"My brother." Anna said, grinning.

"Hello, Sherlock, long time no see." Mark said, nodding to Sherlock. Sherlock nodded back, smiling slightly.

"And you must be John. I've heard you've kept her from bleeding to death quite a bit. Thanks. I know she's a handful…."

"I am not!" Anna said, playfully punching him in the arm.

"Really? I'll prove you wrong later. Anyhow, what are we doing?"

Anna grinned, leading him to the body by the hand.

"It's fascinating, this guy, completely random, never supposed to be in the morgue, found here with his skull bashed in…."

She crouched on one side of the body, while Mark did the same.

'I see. You've certainly advanced from playing games of cluedo since before I left.'

"This is the big leagues, Mark.' She said, smiling slightly.

"now, tell me what you've deduced.'

"Had a root canal two weeks ago.'

Anna rolled her eyes. "Obviously, mark, obviously. Is that all you've got?"

Mark smiled. "five three, slightly obese, has a heart condition, divorced, office worker, judging by the pedicured state of his hands, wears glasses, you can faintly make out the imprint of the nose pads on the bridge of his nose, was left here on purpose. The murderer is trying to set us off."

"Exactly. Which means one of our over obsessed fans is trying to get our attention.'

Mark grinned. "Brilliant. Sherlock, we're going to need DNA scans, I need information on the painkillers he was taking from his root canal, everything you can find about him, alright? Anna, come with me, I need you to show me around this place, and spout off all those facts you have just when I need them. The game is on.'

They were both grinning as they walked out, leaving Lestrade staring after them, as well as all the others.

"She has a brother?" Donovan asked.

Sherlock nodded. 'yes, has had one since she was born. Anyways, I think they'll pretty much handle the case, they probably won't need me. They used to do this occasionally when they were younger.'

Lestrade nodded. "Alright, then. I'll get you the DNA scans. Oh, and Sherlock, the radicals' boyfriends haven't been found yet. We think they're waiting.'

Sherlock nodded "Keep me posted on that." He said, before following behind with john to find them both in the lab.

"Bored, bored, bored." Anna muttered, sighing. "I hate how long it takes for lab reports."

Mark nodded. "You're in ninth grade, now?'

She nodded. "yes, yes, obviously, but I'm bored. Did you bring anything back from Afghanistan?"

Mark grinned. "Yes. For you. Try not to kill anyone." He said, handing her something in a black velvet pouch.

She opened it and stared. I was a beautiful dagger, with a white ivory sheath and a scene of wolves standing abreast in snow etched onto it. It was the same with the handle, perfectly done, and at the very end, done in metal work, was a wolf head.

"Thanks…." She muttered, almost too shocked to speak.

Mark nodded, pulling a deck of cards from his pocket.

"I've learned some new tricks." He said.

He promptly performed one, and laughed as Anna's eyes widened.

"We both know it's an illusion, you know.' He said.

She nodded dumbly. "but it still gets me every time.'

Suddenly her mobile beeped, and she checked the lab report.

"Yes! DNA!"

She opened her laptop and started searching until she found a match.

"Jerry Ruvvio, thirty seven, been arrested three times for disorderly conduct…." she found his address at the bottom of the page. "it's too easy, almost." She said.

Mark nodded. "Meaning he wants us to find him…. It's a trap."

Sherlock was waiting on the other side of the room, watching them, just out of earshot.

"Let's spring it, then.' Anna said, getting to her feet.

"Sherlock, we have to go somewhere….'

Sherlock smiled. "This is your case, both of you. Try not to get killed."

Anna grinned before running out.

"Reckless!" Mark raced out after her, leaving Sherlock to smile. Mark was catching on fast. But Anna was faster.

He caught John giving him a queer look as he settled back to looking through a microscope.

"You're letting them do a case? As in, without you there?'

Sherlock shrugged. "She has to grow up sometimes. Besides, Mark will protect her."

John nodded. "But aren't you bored?"

Sherlock sighed. "yes, incredibly bored. Let's hope when Anna becomes a consulting detective, she goes to New York city or something, so they'res enough crime for the both of us.'

Mark looked down the road, unsure where his little sister was going. She knew the streets of London far better than him, but he spotted her boot pint and raced in that direction.

He sprinted three blocks before he caught up with her. She was trotting at a brisk pace towards terry's house.

"Reckless!" she didn't slow down, just cast a glance over her shoulder until he came up behind her,.

"What are you doing!? " mark demanded.

He was hardly winded from the run, his military training had prepared him. But still, he wanted to be sure he could keep up with his sister.

"To spring the trap." She said, still trotting forward.

"Did you even think this through? What are you going to do, knock on his door and ask him to come with you to the police?"

She nodded. "Pretty much.'

"What if something goes wrong? You need Scotland yard for this, they have situational training…."

She grinned. "I don't need Scotland yard and there situational training, Mark. I've got a dagger. Oh, and I've got you, the soldier."

Mark rolled his eyes. "you're really going to use that excuse? Really?"

She nodded as they turned a corner.

"you didn't even know I'd follow you."

She smiled again. "yes, I did."

"Did not.'

"did to."

Mark rolled his eyes. "How?"

"you're clingy, that's all."

"Oh, so I'm clingy for wanting to make sure you aren't brutally murdered?"

She shrugged. "It never happened before, when we got into scrapes. Besides, I've only gotten better. Sherlock gave me a dulled dagger, and I know how to throw it. This is a nicer one, though, meant for real combat. I can't wait to use it."

Mark rolled his eyes. "Alright. So, you just knock on this guys door, then?"

"I might draw my gun if I have to."

"you have a gun on you. Of course. I should have known.'

She grinned. "Don't leave home without it." She said.

She reached inside Mark's coat to remove the pistol he kept there.

"Hey!"

She gave it back to him and they kept walking, when suddenly, she stopped and rang a doorbell.

Mark stared, a bit edgy "Are you sure we should do this….?"

Just then, the door opened, and they found Jerry facing them. He was the man from the picture, but he'd dyed his hair. A terrible alibi, Mark thought.

"I've been expecting you, Anna." He said, smiling brightly.

She nodded "We came to talk.'

Jerry stepped aside, and they both entered the room.

"Do you think Scotland yard has found him, by now?' John asked.

Sherlock shrugged. "I did. I emailed them the details. I'm thinking Anna went to flush him out, though, with mark. Shouldn't be hard, after all, he's a drunk….'

Just then, his mobile vibrated. He picked up.

"Sherlock, we found him." Lestrade said.

Sherlock nodded. "Do you want me to come?'

"no.'

Sherlock hung up. He was going anyways. He'd beat them there. He was slightly anxious to see how Anna and Mark had fared. But then again, it was a simple case, that was why he'd let them handle it.

"Tea?" Jerry asked, pouring some. She didn't touch it, and neither did Mark, as Jerry sat in an armchair across from them.

"Why did you want to talk to me?" Anna asked.

She was deducing incredibly fast now, facts flying before her. He was wearing play boy cologne, was incredibly athletic, had something in his house of military-order, the way everything was organized, he used whitening strips… he was wearing… cosmetics?

Maybe he was homosexual, then.

"I was intrigued."

"Intrigued by what?"

Jerry smiled still. "The reward."

Suddenly there was a knife in his hand, and he threw it. She ducked just in time, and it hit the wall behind her.

Jerry smiled as she jumped behind the couch with Mark.

The pieces all fell together. He was ex-military, and smart, too. He seemed to flow like water as he moved and grabbed her, holding a knife to her throat.

Mark had drawn his gun by now, but she knew he wouldn't shoot, because there was a considerable risk of Jerry throwing her into the line of fire. And Jerry wasn't just an overzealous fan, either. He was a trained assassin.

"Mark…." She muttered.

Mark grit his teeth. "I know."

Jerry took her and backed into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it.

She panicked for a minute, wondering what he'd do to her. She knew Mark could pick the lock, but it was a room with nowhere to hide….

Jerry had a knife again, and he lunged at her. She ducked as he slashed, and a good six inches of her hair fell to the floor.

"Anna!" She heard Mark working frantically to pick the lock, and her gun was on the floor outside…. She took her dagger out and met Jerry's blade before it touched her neck, managing to kick Jerry in the groin and send him back against the wall.

The door swung open and Mark grabbed her, pulling her outside and aiming his gun.

Just then, Jerry drew a pistol and fired, and Mark rolled to the side, grabbing her as he did.

The smell of the gunpowder was thick in the air as they huddled together for a moment.

"He's hired…." She muttered.

Mark nodded. "Yes, he definitely is…."

Just then, Jerry emerged, pointing his gun at Mark's head.

"Now, both of you, drop everything." Anna obeyed, despite Mark's pleading gaze to disobey.

Jerry bound her wrists with duct tape, keeping a gun to her head as he did so.

"duct tape? That's so cliché. I'd expect better from an esteemed assassin.'

Jerry smiled. "Whatever. I get more if I deliver you alive, otherwise you'd be dead.'

"I doubt it."

Scotland Yard pulled up outside as Jerry finished tying her.

Jerry smiled. "I see your friends have joined the party…."

Anna ducked to the side and swung at him as he was distracted her small fist colliding with his jaw and dazing him for a moment.

Jerry whirled and jumped on top of her, pinning her to the ground. His fist slammed into her nose and she heard it crack and tasted blood as he did so.

He pulled out his knife, knowing he could still get a reward for killing her, when suddenly mark was on top of him.

"If you ever, _ever, _touch her again, I will shoot you repeatedly and rip out your intestines! Do you hear me!?" mark yelled.

Jerry was still dazed, and mark pinned him down.

"Do you hear me?" he yelled.

Anna got to her feet, dusting herself off. Blood was gushing from her nose, but she didn't care.

"Mark, it's alright, I'm alright….'

"Stay out of this, reckless." Mark said, and she stepped back, knowing it was best not to intervene in these situations.

The Scotland yard was setting up a perimeter outside.

Mark grabbed jerry's knife and threw it at the wall. It landed in the doorframe, and Donovan gasped, as she'd just opened the door and entered, gun drawn.

"And, if you are still breathing by the time all of that is over, I will cut out your tongue and feed it to you, and break both your arms….'

"Mark, it's time to finish up with the biology lesson." She sighed as Lestrade and the others were staring.

"And I will kill you violently." Mark said, punching Jerry.

He stood and brushed himself off, looking over at Anna. He deduced she was alright, but still, her nose was broken.

"Clingy aliquam ut dicis." She said, smiling slightly. _So you're not clingy, are you?_

Mark rolled his eyes. "clausa tuo suus salus. fuit venientem ad se, anyways." _Shut up. It was for your well being, and he had it coming, anyways._

Anna shrugged. "Whatever."

Donovan groaned. "So they speak Latin to one another, too. Just what we need. Another influence for little freak.'

"Excuse me, what did you just call me sister?" mark asked, turning to Donovan.

Donovan blushed furiously, realizing how handsome he really was and how she'd just insulted his little sister.

"That's what I thought.' Mark said.

"Illa mutum unum, Marcus. Posset habere eam pick alicuius hominis, tamen illa elegit Anderson." Anna said. _She's a dumb one, Mark. Could have her pick of any man, yet she chose Anderson._

Mark smiled. "Really, now. That's the fellow…."

She nodded.

"anyways, Lestrade, we got jerry for you." She said. "He's actually a trained assassin, we figured out.'

Lestrade nodded, looking around at the decimated flat in awe. Glass was shattered, tables overturned, and there was blood on the wall.

"And, you completely destroyed this flat.' He said.

She nodded. "Yeah… sorry about that…." Suddenly, she realized it was around nine at night.

"Dang it, Mark, we have to get home. Curfew's at nine.'

Anderson stared. "Wait, your uncle lets you face assassins and go on murder scenes any time, but you have a curfew?"

She nodded. "Yes, actually, John had something to do with that, I think, but anyways… see you.' She said, leaving with Mark.

Lestrade was chuckling to himself. "Only Sherlock would give her a gun and a curfew."

Mark made sure Anne was asleep in bed, before he sat down across from Sherlock, his face troubled.

"What happened?' Sherlock asked.

Mark shook his ehad. "He was a hired assassin, not just a murderer."

John stared. "He what?"

"He was huired. After her, in general, actually. He hacked off a ton of her hair, afterall.'

John nodded, looking troubled. "So who hired him, then?"

Sherlock sighed. "seems like something Moriarty would pull, with the case seeming so sim[ple. He staged it all, now, I see. He wanted to to send her alone, so he;d be able to get her. Unless it's the buyer who wanted her from the terrorists….'

Mark raised his eyebrows. "Identity?"

'unknown.' Sherlock said, sighing.

He didn't rebuke himself out loud, but inside, he was cursing himself. He;d let her go, fallen right into the trap. It could have ended much worse, she could have died due to his ignorance. He definitely wasn't letting her out of his sight again.

"Moriarty's getting more ruthless, then. He wanted her alive, too, Jerry said." Mark quipped.

Jhon nodde.d "Doesn't surprise me. She never ceases to be full of surprises. She;s never faced an assain before, has she, Sherlock?'

Sherlcok sighed. "She ahs nowl. Along with all those other things. Anyways, she;s alright, now?'

Mark nodded. "Yes, she's fine' he knew she;d had a bloody nose, but he also knew that would never slow her down.

"if there was one assain after her, there could be others.' John pointed out.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes." He agreed, before going ionto his room and shutting the door.

It wasn't that he was mad, so much as upset at himself for allowing this to happen. He knew she was now the apple of Moriarty's eye, since he wanted to kill her so badly to upset him.

Things had been quiet for too long now. Moriarty had thought her dead in herfall off a bridge, but now her fame was growing, along with his and John's, and she was in danger again….

He grabbed the dagger she;d given him for Christmas and threw it at the wall in frustration. It stuck well and sunkl it with deadly accuracy, and he sighed and flopped down on his bed.

It wasn't his niece he was frustrated with, though he partially wished she wouldn't e so reckless. But bit was the thought of having to constantly be living in the fear she;d be killed because of him.

This was the thing that had made him not want to take custody of his orphaned niece in the firswt plac,e but she;d made it clear she wasn;t going any other way- even if she nearly got herself killed in the process.

Hel;d assumed she was bright enough to stay out of the traps, vbut she was young and still learning, not to mention she was small. And now that Moriarty's tact had increased, eh was growing more worried than ever….

No. This was what he wanted, Sherlock reasoned, Moriarty wanted him to be going out of his mind. It was like when he;d kidnapped Anna and hadn't contacted for horus. He was wanting to make him wonder, to make him fear. And he wouldn't do it anymore.

He closed his eyes. The case, for now, was solved, and Anna was safe in her room with two nsoldiers in the front room, so he allowed himself to rest.

He woke up to find she wasnlt in her bed and took a breath. Anan hardly slept in her bed anyways. Shed sleep anywhere,e really, since she was up at all odd hours working or conducting expirinments. He didn't; give her a bedtime, afterall, only gave her the curfew at Johm;s insistence, she she was probably still ehre.

He entered the living room to find Mark reading on the couch and John sipping his tea. He noticed a small curled fist poking out from the empty bottom shelf of his book shelf and smield. She did like to curl up in there, too.

He settled down to his microscope to look at slides.

Anna occupied herself for the day and didn't seem to notice him watching her, making sure she was alright.

She finished a workbook and cast it aside before settling down to type on her laptop.

Sherlock sighed mentally in relief. It was going to be a boring day, but if that meant Anna was safe, he was happy.


	44. the Secound Attempt

"Sherlock, can you come? Something's up." Lestrade spoke. Sherlock nodded, looking over at Anna, wondering if he should let her come.

He got the details and hung up, electing to keep Anna beside him as they went.

Anna grinned as they walked down the road. Mark was getting settled in the basement flat, and couldn't come, and John was at work still, so it was just them.

He studied Anna as they walked towards the scene, a heavily wooded park and road, the same park as last time.

Sherlock studied her. She didn't seem to be disturbed at all that she was possibly being hunted at this very moment by assasins, and he wondered how she could be so careless while he was so worried.

Caring was an advantage, he realized, because it hardened his resolve to keep her safe.

"Why are you doing that?' she asked, annoyance clear in her voice as they walked.

"doing what?'

"Looking at me like that! You''ve been doing it for two days now."

Sherlock shrugged. "I don't know, you've got the highest IQ here."

"So you stare at me all the time. It's annoying." She walked a little faster, and Sherlock sighed. He could have sworn he'd been nearly undetectable as he secretly spied on her, but she was getting more and more perceptive.

Still, though, he wasn't going to let her out of his sight, and he kept beside her at the scene.

There was a human arm sitting on the ground, bone severed, nothing else left.

"We're not sure about the rest of it." Lestrade spoke.

Sherlock nodded. "they could have scattered the remains…." Anna was already tracking the blood trail, and he saw her starting to disappear into the woods to his right.

"anna, stay beside me.' He ordered. She rolled her eyes but obeyed.

Lestrade shook his head. "I don't know, can you tell me anything from this arm?' he asked.

Sherlcok nodded and crouched to examine it.

It was hard to find anything, the killer had done well, and it took him a solid two mintues to figure it all out.

He rattled off the facts to Lestrade and stood, when suddenly, he realized anna was gone.

"were's anna?' he looked around.

"I think she went off….' Donovan said.

Sherlock felt something like panic flutter within him, but forced himself to remain calm. She was an expert woodsmen, he knew, but still, one assain had already tried to kill her, he didn't need another.  
But he knew she'd be following the blood trail.

He wasn't as good a tracker as she was, but he could probably catch her before it was too late.

He hoped he could, anyways.

She looked down expertly at the ground, noticing a few drops of blood on the wet leaves. Spring was coming, but it looked slightly red, and she headed towards where it was leading her.

She didn't understand why Sherlock was being so incredibly clingy, anyways. She could handle herself.

She walked forward again. She must have gone a good hundred yards by that point, and she stepped into a small clearing….

She froze on instinct. The ground here had been dug up, the leaves crudely replaced, but still, the hole wasn't big enough to be a grave for the rest of the body unless someone had disassembled it….

She normally would have ventured forward, but she felt uneasy about it. She found a rock and tossed it forward. Sudenly there was an explosion so powerful it knocked her off her feet.

Sherlock had only just begun tracking when he heard the explosion. His heart jumped to his throat, realizing his impulsve niece ahd probably stumbled on a land mine planted, thinking it was a shallow grave.

He raced towards the sound, the others behind him, eyes wide with shock. He was afraid of what he'd find, but he couldn't bear not knowing.

She'd slammed up against a tree as dirt showered around her, the heat of it all enough to warm her and the shock enough to daze her for a moment or two.

It had been planted for a reason she relaied, someone had been trying to kill Sherlock….

She stood and brushed herself off, making sure she was intact. That was what John would want her to do, anyways. Ten fingers, all her toes were still inside her work boots…. She was alright.

Sherlock would be here soon, she reasoned, and he'd probably be angry At hr for messing up the scene...

Just then he bust into the clearing. He'd been running. That was interesting, she'd never seen him run for anyone besides after a criminal.

He hid his emotions well, though, because she didn't see his anger and fear. His fear slowed to relief as he saw her standing by a large crater in the ground, looking fine. Deduction flew through his mind. She wasn't bleeding, she was standing by her own power…. She looked to have been on the very edge of the explosion.

"That was stupid.' He muttered audibly, so everyone could hear.

"I found a landmine.' Anan said, stating the obvious.

"You've compromised everything. There could have been evidence there." Sherlock said. Really, he was trying to calm his raging emotions, making sure he could hide them all behind his mask.

"Well it wasn't like you could just walk over and get it, if there was." She pointed out.

Sherlcok sighed.

"go back to the flat.'

"Why?'

Sherlock turned to Lestrade. "I'll text you the details." He told him, before grabbing Anna by the arm and leading her back to the woods. He was silent until they reached 221 B, letting his emotions roll over him.

She was alright, she wasn't hurt, his adrenalin was slowly calming down. How could she have been so stupid!? Would she ever listen to him?

As soon as they were upstairs, he sat her down on the couch.

"You are grounded."

She stared. "for what?"

"for running off like an idiot and almost getting yourself killed! Honestly, that was beyond dumb, it was almost dim-wtted!"

"Why are you so irritable all fo a sudden!?" she demanded, on her feet, eyes blazing as she stared at him.

"Because there are assassins out after you, and you're just as reckless as before!"

"Why should I live in fear just because some lunatic is after me! I can handle myself just fine! What if they want you?"

Her eyes were on fire now, her lips pursed, with that same angry, defiant look he'd seen on her mother's face so many times.

"go to your room!"

"Don't have to tell me twice!" she yelled, before slamming the door.

"you're lucky I don't send you with Mycroft right now!" he yelled, then he flopped onto the couch, tryintg to sort everything out. She didn't care. She didn't care. She was being hunted by assasins, yet she didn't care. How could she not?

She was the only thing left he had of her mother. Really, besides Mark, of course, and he was planning on going back to afghanistan soon... He was caring again, he realized, and he sighed.

Maybe it wasn't an advantage, it freaked him out more than ever about her being killed.

He slipped out to get a drink. He expected she'd be out of her room by now, disregarding his words as soon as he'd left, to read or something.

He found John sitting on the couch reading and didn't speak as he went to her room. It seemed... disturbed...

Her door was shut, and when he opened it he found her bed was neatly made. It was never made, she thought it a waste of time, as did he.

He noticed her backpack was gone, as well as her jacket, the photos of her and her mother...

It was the. He saw it on the bed. The small silver chair with the clasp, the glittering black stone on the end, laid out perfectly... It was then he knew she was gone.


	45. Would've said goodbye

He remembered the day he'd given her the necklace. It had been at the christmas eve party at the Manor, when she was four.

_He'd found her hiding under a chair in the study, to get away from the noise, no doubt._

_"Happy birthday." He'd handed her the box. She'd said thank you before she opened it and tore into the package, pulling out the necklace._

_"Know anything about it?" He'd asked curiously._

_She'd nodded. "The rock is a lode stone, natural magnet, they were used to help ships navigate centuries ago and had places in folklore..."_

_She gently ran her fingers over he glinting black stone. "It should always work as a compass in water..."_

_Sherlock nodded, and she beamed at him. "Thanks." She said, before running off to test it._

He closed his eyes, praying he'd open them and she'd be asleep in some dark corner he hadn't noticed, or four years old again. She wasn't.

He was gripping the stone tightly now, and he turned when he heard John's voice.

"Sherlock? You Alright?"

"She's gone." Sherlock muttered. And suddenly it hit him. She'd gone somewhere,left, while there were trained assassins hunting her. His head snapped up.

"She's a walking target, now."

They both stared at one another for a minute.

"Call Mycroft's spies." Sherlock muttered to himself, grabbing his mobile.

He got the secretary on the line, who wouldn't put him through.

"Tell him it's an emergency. Anna's missing."

The secretary hesitated, then said she'd told him, and he was working on it.

Sherlock hung up and let his thoughts bring in the logical answer. Mycroft's spies would have been alerted the moment she'd left, he was sure, so why did the secretary have to tell him that?

Then the answer hit him. They already knew.

* * *

She stared at the wall, too miserable to care about anything. Tears sprang to her eyes at the memory of it all. Sherlock's last words bounced around in her head.

_"You're lucky i don't send you with Mycroft right now!"_

She hadn't thought he'd meant it. But fifteen minutes later, Mycroft's men had come, told her to pack a bag and come. And she'd known.

They'd been here for two hours, and Mycroft hadn't shut up. He rattled on and on about how he was going to sign her up for an all girl's school in Whales and how her future was so bright, describing the campus in detail and the academic opportunity she'd have.

She didn't care. Thoughts were racing through her mind, suddenly. Sherlock. He'd promised he'd take care of her, protect her, he'd promised. And now to ship her off like this, without even saying goodbye.

She didn't believe it. She didn't believe it for one second.

Sherlock knew Mycroft frequently had conferences in one of his many offices on the first floor of a rather large government branch of something or other, and he went there with John now, hoping against hope he was right.

He found the secretary waiting.

"I need to see Mycroft immediately."

"He's busy." The secretary said, her eyes darting towards a closed door behind her.

It was then he heard her voice. "Why? Why would he ship me off with you and not say goodbye?"

Mycroft spoke. "Because you were too much for him, my dear, and he wanted to give you up."

Sherlock's fist clenched. "Let me see her, now." He said icily to the secretary.

"Anna, just sign the paper saying you want to be in my care. It will make sorting everything out for the judge so much easier. Besides, Sherlock wants this to be as easy as possible."

"You're lying!" Anna screamed. Her voice was so laced with terror Sherlock reacted, running towards the door.

Glass shattered and she still kept screaming.

"He wouldn't leave me, he wouldn't! He promised!"

"Anna! Anna, I'm here!" Sherlock tried opening the door, but it was locked.

He continued to hear her frantic screaming and more clatters as the secretary called security, which dragged him away from the door.

The door opened suddenly and Anna bolted out, just as security blocked her exit.

Sherlock saw the deer-in-the-headlights look as she stood, surrounded, no way to escape. Her breathing was fast and rapid, like a rabbit's, her hands were covered in he own blood, her chest was heaving, she looked like she was going to pass out at any moment...

"Suus 'me. Suus 'licutt." _it's me. it's alright. _He said, stepping out in front on her. She instantly latched onto him and burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably as her hands shook.

"Cumque me ad te..." She muttered. _They were going to take me away from you._

"Suus 'licuit."'he mutttered again, and she kept sobbing into his chest, so frantic it was almost shocking.

Mycroft emerged, looking shocked to see them both. "I'll deal with you later, Mycroft." Sherlock said coldly, before gently walking out with Anna beside him.

John, as well as the others, had never seen her cry. Sherlock had, though, and he gently allowed her to lean on him as they walked towards home.

"They were going to take me away..." She muttered.

"Mycroft set it up. He bugged the flat, heard the fight, and tried to trick you."

She nodded, but continued looking terrified and almost ghostly pale until they reached the flat.

John instantly slipped into doctor mode and started wiping the blood from her hands, which were shaking so violently it shocked him.

"He said you left me..."

"He lied, Anna, he lied. I promised, remember?" She nodded shakily as John started to bandage her trembling hands.

"You left this." Sherlocks said quietly, placing her necklace over her shoulders. She nodded wordlessly and showed him a wane smile. The pink lips looked out of place on her ghostly white face.

Neither had said anything, but Sherlock knew she'd meant it as an apology by leaving it.

"Mycroft always tries to be manipulative, you know." She nodded, leaning against him. She stared up at him with those green eyes.

"You would have said goodbye, wouldn't you?" She whispered, the pleading note in her tone almost too much for him to bear.

"Of course I would've."He said. Hey eyes fluttered closed as her breathing evened, and she slipped of to sleep, the exhaustion if everything taking over.

Something stung within him for having to actually tell her he'd at least say goodbye. She should've known. But something prideful came at knowing she'd had the faith to assume he would.

John watched as Sherlock handled the younger Holmes, slightly surprised. Sherlock had never been good with people, but it seemed like Anna was the one exception to the rule.

Sherlock was the one who'd already dealt with life, gotten to where he was and survived. Anna was like his student, his shadow, and his friend, more than that.

She was the one thing he'd ever seen Sherlock care deeply for besides Irene.

And suddenly he realized it all. Why he brought her to the crime scenes, why he corrected her so quickly, why he'd decided to take care of her in the first place.

He saw it all coming together, all the glances they shared, the times they spoke in latin, the times she'd retreat to her room, leaving him to guess at what she was feeling, while Sherlock already knew.

Sherlock found the meaning in it all, and they'd bonded. Anna had probably had very few people in her life who understood her. Her parents were dead, after all, her brother in Afghanistan most of the time...who did that leave her with?

Sherlock, really, that was it. And today she'd almost lost him.

* * *

She'd slept better than she had most nights, and she woke up leaning against Sherlock, who was holding his violin silent. When he saw she was awake, he started to pluck absently at the strings.

There was no need for him to ask how she'd slept. He'd deduced it. And there was no reason for her to question his word. At least, not anymore.

* * *

**What do you guys think? Tried to fit it all together, and I know it's been awhile. Tried to edit the typos, since I, too, have OCD and wanted to put someone's mind at ease. If you like it, please r&r, follow, or fav!**


	46. Cocoa and Cabbies

Sherlock got the text a day later. He sighed, before looking into Anna's room. She was asleep, a chemistry textbook still in her bandaged hands. She was on page five hundred, and he carefully took it away and set it on her bedside table before pulling a blanket over her and turning to look at the door.

He didn't want to leave her here, didn't want any assassins to find her.

He pulled out his phone and texted back.

Five minutes later, he was sitting across the room from Mycroft. John had the day off, as well.

"She's ill." Mycroft stated firmly.

"She's fine. She was, anyways, until you tried to ship her off."

Mycroft sighed. "I admit, that wasn't a good investment on my part..."

"She's not a stock, Mycroft, she's not some race horse you're betting on." Sherlock said coldly.

Mycroft looked mildly annoyed, but continued. "Sherlock, she has separation anxiety. She panicked that day because she wasn't with you, and you were the norm for her. She got violent, she was so scared. This isn't healthy. Now, I've already spoken to an evaluator and he's prescribed some medication..."

"No."

Mycroft looked exasperated. "Sherlock, don't you see? It's not a bond you two share, it's because both her parents are dead. She's attached to you since you were the first thing that seemed permanent after her mother's death. If you actually let her take the pills, then she might actually get to choose who she wants to live with, without the anxiety."

Sherlock felt like he'd been punched in he gut, but he hid it well, since Mycroft and John didn't notice.

Suddenly, someone strode in. "No, Mycroft, i don't think she likes him because of anxiety. I think it's an emotion called love, really, that you've never understood. And I think it's because of that love that she panics when she's about to be taken away from him. Drugs won't buy you her respect or clear her head, since she's already decided who she wants to be with." Mark's gaze was stony as he looked over at Mycroft.

"Care to disagree, uncle?"

Mycroft looked shocked. "Mark. I heard you've signed on for another tour of duty on March."

Mark nodded.

"Please, stay here, your sister needs you..."

"She doesn't need me, Mycroft. She'd like me to stay, but I can't. I'm not the boy I was, Mycroft. That's the difference between us. Those who value there beliefs more than their life fight. Those who value hearing themselves talk become politicians."

Mycroft opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it, and left.

Mark sighed and took a seat in his chair.

"So, now that he's gone, how's reckless?"

"Asleep." He turned back to his violin, but really he was wondering. Did she only care about him because he was the first thing she'd been able to latch onto?

He was called to a disappearance over the next few days, and he reluctantly brought Anna with him. For some reason he felt let down, knowing the possibility of there bond had been forged only out of her uncertainty after Mary's death.

"Drink this. John says you're too small." He ordered, tossing her a juice pouch before heading off to the crime scene.

Anna was silent most of the time, contentedly drinking the strawberry kiwi or whatever it was kool aid.

He stared at the blood on the carpet. The gears were turning in his head, pieces coming together...

That noise. It was a sucking, thudding sound, it annoyed him. "Anna, quit it." He said, not turning around.

Anna was no doubt sucking the life out of the juice pouch. In response she just sucked even louder, and he turned to snap at her when he saw she was smiling.

"Stop it, will you?" He asked, looking down to hide his smile. But then she started giggling and it sounded so much like silver bells and was so sweet sounding he had to laugh as well, and then they were both laughing like maniacs as they were surrounded by a scene of crime and blood...

Donovan walked in and wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Psychopaths." She muttered.

But Lestrade couldn't help but smile as well, since he'd seen it all play out and was relieved to know Sherlock could share moments like this with someone, anyone, really.

Finally, they both caught there breath and Sherlock managed to tell Lestrade what he needed to know. But he was smiling as he left.

* * *

"Sherlock, we need you." Lestrade said, his voice edgy.

"What happened?"

"You need to see it."

* * *

Anna sat in the cafe across from Mark, sipping on hot cocoa. It was less than a week until he left for Afghanistan, again.

She sipped her drink, feeling it burn as she swallowed. It was so hot, the cafe was warm, as well. It felt nice in the chill of late February...

"Reckless, I'm sorry I can't stay."

She nodded, struggling to find words.

"Why? At least tell me why you need to go back."

Mark sighed. "You've always been a fighter, we both always needed adventure... You've found your place, Reckless, and I've found mine."

She shook her head. "There's something more, isn't there?"

Mark didn't meet her eyes. "I have some... unfinished business to take care of."

She nodded. "Promise you'll come back to me?"

Mark nodded. She took another sip of hot cocoa. It was warm, nice, she was actually starting to feel drowsy... Her mobile went off.

"Lestrade. He needs me somewhere."

Mark nodded and stood. "I'll come, as well."

She smiled slightly as they hailed a cab. Cases with Mark were always fun...

* * *

Sherlock stared at the room. The two boyfriends of the political radicals were lying, mutilated, on the floor of an old Victorian house half an hour from London. Written all over the walls, in blood, was a name, over and over again. The name was what sent the chill up Sherlock's spine. Anna Holmes.

"They are more assassins, then." Sherlock muttered. "And they're killing each other to better there chances."

"Little Freak needs to see this." Anderson spoke, voice bitter and eyes hard.

"No." Both Sherlock and Lestrade spoke in unison.

"I already texted her." Anderson said, and shrugged, earning him a glare from Sherlock.

"This isn't her fault." Sherlock said quietly.

Anderson smiled, eyes laced with blame. "Whose fault is it, then?"

"Shut up."

* * *

Mark paid the cabbie and they both went towards the house. It was near empty fields, and Anna swayed slightly.

The cabbie hadn't pulled away yet.

"Reckless? Are you alright?"

She attempted to nod but shook her head. She'd been growing progressively worse on the drive, and she never got carsick.

She felt dizzy... She'd only felt like this when she'd been drugged.

"Reckless?"

The world was swimming before her eyes now, and she gasped, realizing it all too late as she crumpled to the ground.

"Reckless. Reckless!" Mark shook her unmoving form, panicked. She'd never really just collapsed before, not even from as asthma attack...

He heard feet on the soft snow behind him and whirled just in time to see the cabbie holding a hatchet.

His military training instantly kicked into gear, and he grabbed Anna's hand and moved, pulling away as the back of the hatchet hit where he'd been crouching.

He cast a worried glance at Anna, when suddenly it all came together. Another assassin.

He dodged left as the cabbie, a man about his age, swung the hatchet crazily.

The cabbie aimed for Anna's leg, and Mark slammed into him, pinning down his arm with the hatchet and punching him in the face.

Just when he thought there was no danger, a needle slipped under his skin, and he blacked out.


	47. Moriarti Returns

He woke up in the trunk of the cab, feeling dizzy and bruised. It was freezing in here, and dark, besides.

He felt his hand on something small... Reckless!

He turned her small form over in the darkness and checked for a pulse, finding a strong one under his fingers. He could hear her breathing was steady, as well, and he relaxed slightly.

She'd blacked out after... The cafe! Of course. He'd had breakfast before deciding to take her out, he hadn't eaten anything there... The drink was drugged.

And they weren't dead. He wondered why not for a moment, and remembered Moriarty. He wanted Anna dead in he worst way possible to hurt Sherlock.

Of course, he'd never let that happen.

"Reckless." He whispered, tapping her cheek. "Reckless." She didn't stir.

"Vacuum cleaner!" Mark whispered.

She snapped out it with a start, and stared.

"Where?"

Mark felt a little guilty for using a childhood fear to get her up, but still, he'd been the one to tell her vacuum cleaners sucked people up.

"There is none." Mark assured her. "We're kidnapped. How do you feel?"

She shrugged. "Alright. I can fight..."

Mark knew she was stretching the truth. The car made a turn, throwing both of them into the side, and Anna swore.

"Watch your mouth." Mark whispered, once he'd rightened himself.

"Says the man who taught me how to cuss." She retorted, and Mark had to smile. Sherlock certainly was doing well in teaching her how to argue.

"So, what's the plan? It's the cabbie, isn't it? Always the cabbie..." She muttered dryly.

"No, it's an assassin posing as a cabbie." Mark corrected her.

"Maybe he was a cabbie before he was an assassin, which would make him a cabbie first and a part-time assassin." Anna said.

"Assassins don't work part-time, Reckless." Mark said. He wondered why he was even engaging in such a pointless conversation at a moment like this.

"How would you know? Have you asked one? Prove me wrong." Anna said, and Mark could tell by her tone she was grinning.

"Alright, it's a postulate, then, a statement that can't be proven and is assumed to be true."

Anna smiled, teeth flashing in the darkness.

Mark chuckled. "Why are we even talking about this now?"

Anna shrugged. "You brought it up." She said, and they turned left this time. Anna slammed into Mark, who caught her before she slammed into him. She thanked him with her look before sliding a foot away. She never was one for close contact in small, dark spaces. She liked to see everything around her.

"So, what do we do?" She asked.

"I thought you were the creative one."

"I am, but you've been thrown into the equation, this time, and my plan might alarm you..."

"I've known you forever, reckless. Nothing you do surprises me anymore."

She shrugged. "Good. Now, what's your plan?"

Mark gawked. "My plan? You're the creative one!"

"And you have military training. My plan is you come up with a plan."

Mark nodded, taking it all in.

Anna smiled. "I'm full of surprises, bro." She said, nudging him with her elbow. Mark mentally agreed.

"We go with the flow, I guess. Surprise is our best weapon now, we should do what we can. No matter what, we stay together, and please, don't get killed in the process of freeing us."

She shrugged. "I make no promises."

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked, looking up at the clock.

* * *

Anderson shrugged. "I texted her ten minutes ago. Give her some time. Traffic, maybe..."

"It's Wednesday, Anderson, hardly any traffic on a Wednesday. She would have texted, would have been here..."

He turned on his blackberry and checked his app. He'd had a tracker implanted on her mobile after the incident with Mycroft...

She was in a field to their right. For some reason, he felt edgy.

"Where are you going?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock didn't answer, only continued towards where she was. Lestrade and Anderson followed.

She wasn't there, but he found the blood in the snow, and her mobile lying in a boot print. Footprints were next to her's, as well, size Twelves, Mark's, he knew, and a size thirteen mens. He found the indent in the snow, the impression of where she'd landed.

Anderson had gone pale. "They're still alive, right?" He asked.

Sherlock's fist clenched. He hoped for Moriarty's own safety they were.

* * *

Anna's body went slack against his own as they played unconscious. The cab took a sharp left and stopped, and they heard the door close.

"Where are they?"

Anna went rigid for a moment when she heard the voice. Moriarty, that hated voice...

Mark placed his hand on her shoulder and she calmed down, letting herself go slack again.

The trunk opened, and blinding light showed colors of skin cells on her eyelids.

"They'll both be out for awhile." The man assured him, and Moriarty nodded,slinging Anna over his shoulder.

She grit her teeth and forced herself to remain calm. They were taking her away from Mark...

"Here she is, Sherlock."

She saw the camera set up, and realized what was happening.

"I kill her brother first, though. I want her to be able to watch."

Her eyes flickered open. She was hanging down Moriarty's back, and she saw Mark pretending to be unconscious as a rope was strung up...

Her fear was sudden and acute, and she didn't think. She felt the cold metal of the dagger Mark had given her in the sheath under her sleeve, and she drew and plunged it into Moriarty's back.

She felt it enter the flesh, stab through, heard Moriarty's gasp as it plunged, felt his grip loosen.

She wriggled loose and fell, pulling her dagger from him as he staggered back.

He took a shaky breath and smiled, reaching for his gun.

"Reckless!" Mark's yell pulled her from her trance and she rolled to the side as gunfire rained down around her.

Mark back handed the cabbie and dove behind a truck, realizing his pistol had been taken...

Six armed security guards rushed in, guns ready, and Mark fought the impulse to run towards his sister.

There were old cars here, in the parking garage, and he saw it just as Anna did. A ford pinto.

She dove behind it and army crawled as far away as she could...

He saw what was going to happen before it did. Anna slid under the next car behind it as gunfire rained down...

A bullet hit the gas tank, and it exploded into a ball of flames.

Metal shards and glass flew everywhere, and puddles of leaking oil caught flame as well...

Mark saw her a few cars away and ran to her. Fire was spreading fast, way too fast. He slid across as hood and Anna was shakily on her feet, by then

"Run." Mark ordered, grabbing her hand, gunfire again pelted around them, but the thick smoke covered their escape as they raced out through the corridor.

Sirens blared, and Mark had no idea where in London they were.

Anna leaned against the building, eyes closed, and Mark realized this wasn't the brightest thing to do.

"Reckless..."

He could already hear her rasping breath, and pulled her inhaler from his pocket as he grabbed her hand and led her across the street.

She staggered and he caught her, getting her to sit on the park bench.

Her eyes were wide with fear. "Take a breath. Just breath." He ordered, giving her a puff of her inhaler.

"It's almost over, trust me..."

He gave her another puff and she took another breath, finally being able to breathe.

"Is he dead?" She asked hopefully, sooty face suddenly worried.

"I hope so. You gave it your best shot, Reckless."

He rubbed her back gently and she took another shaking breath, then sighed. The police had arrived by now, and mark noticed she was still clutching the bloodied dagger.

He licked his finger and started scrubbing at the soot on her face. He remembered Mum doing it to both of them when there faces were dirty, and he figured it was what she'd do now.

"What are you doing?" She asked, pulling away.

"You have soot on your face." He explained, and continued wiping it away.

"We're not cats, Mark." She said, but she allowed him to do his best to wipe it away.

* * *

"What happened?" Lestrade asked, slightly surprised to see both siblings intact and sitting across from him.

"They drugged Anna, managed to inject me with something, and Anna stabbed Moriarty"

Lestrade raised his eyebrows. "How did the fire start?"

"Anna made sure they shot a ford pinto which then exploded and ignited some puddles of oil and things escalated."

"How long were you there for?"

Anna shrugged. "An hour, maybe. Is Moriarty dead, Lestrade?"

Lestrade sighed. "They're still checking. Go home, both of you, alright?"

They both stood and left. Sherlock had to deal with the aftermath of everything, but they'd texted him.

It was late by now, and they were a few blocks from the flat.

Suddenly more bullets rained down on them, and Mark dove behind a trash can. Anna had sprinted to the right... She'd taken to the alleys.

He grabbed his phone and texted sherlock before getting to his feet and running. Anna was in the allies somewhere, no assassins on the rooftop had remained for him, which meant they were all after Anna.

And suddenly he wasn't a simple citizen anymore, he was a soldier, he raced into the alley, his mind warning him of IEDs.

There were no IEDs in London, he had one objective, now. His sister. Sand. He could taste it again, though he knew his mind was playing tricks on him. Whoever it was who was after his sister, he'd make them pay.

He grasped that he was not in Afghanistan. But he was going to fight like it.

She took a flying leap over some bins and landed, feet barely touching the ground. Her assassins were on the rooftops, and her nerves were shot. She'd been running on fumes after the encounter with Moriarty, and she'd reacted, taking to the allies in that instant.

She knew the allies well, had learned almost everything about them. But yet she had no idea where she was going.

She knew how to use the allies for shortcuts almost everywhere, but when she was simply running for her life, it seemed like it might not matter where she was.

Suddenly she heard footsteps behind her. Not Marks, but someone else. There was a fire escape, and she jumped onto a bin and scrambled onto it.

The metal was cold, so cold, but she scrambled to her feet and managed to reach the rooftop.

The goal, she realized, had been to separate her from Mark, so she'd be an easier target.

She stood still for a moment to get a breath, then jumped onto another building.

She continued running. She was on level ground with her assassins now, there were three of them.

She recalled where she was. If she doubled back she could make it to Scotland yard...

Two blocks. She was two blocks away. At that moment the dart struck her shoulder.

She tore it out and staggered, jumping onto the next rooftop and sprinting to the end.

Where was Mark when she needed him?

She tried not to panic. She'd managed to stay conscious before when she'd been sedated, she could do it now.

She jumped again and staggered when she landed, and she knew she couldn't, not for much longer, anyways.

One block. Just one more block. But she was losing it, she knew. She wondered what would happen when they caught her. They might kill her, or ransom her, but they'd most certainly take her away from Sherlock.

It was that thought that caused her to panic, and she felt adrenalin pour into her bloodstream. The footsteps were close now, less than ten feet behind her, but she didn't look back.

She was going to make it. Lestrade and Mark were going to be there. It was going to be alright.

She reached the end of the roof now and gridded to a halt, looking down. She was two stories up, flashing blue lights, red lights, the footsteps were even closer. She felt fingertips brush her back and jumped, everything in her rattling as she landed on metal.

A fire escape. Everything was graying at the edges, but she scrambled onto the railing and looked down. Everything was out of focus, but she heard her assailant cock his gun and jumped...

She expected to hit the pavement in a bone-shattering rush, but instead she felt someone catch her. It took her a moment to register the Cologne, but instant, she knew. It was Sherlock.

"You could have died, you know." He admonished quietly, chest vibrating as he spoke.

"They... They were going to take me away from you..." She muttered thickly.

"How did you know I'd catch you?"

"I didn't." She muttered, before she went slack in his arms.

Lestrade was shouting orders, Mark raced up and grabbed a pistol from someone and aimed in an instant. The next moment the man had fallen onto the fire escape.

Another man came, and Mark fired on him too. He landed on the pavement with a sickening thud.

The men were being loaded into an ambulance a moment later, and Lestrade stared at Mark with a new respect in his eyes. "Where the heck did you learn to shoot like that?' he asked.

Mark shrugged. "My best friend's a sniper. Nice gun, by the way.' He handed it back to Lestrade, and leaned closer.

"If you get any information out of either of them, I want to know it.I want to know who the heck hired them, and why they wanted my sister. Alright?"

Lestrade hesitated, but saw the fierce look on Mark's face and nodded.

"thanks." Mark turned to leave, a soldier in civilian clothes.

* * *

Sherlock had replayed it over and over again in his mind. He was trying to figure it all out. The moment when she'd jumped, it had hit him. It was only a fifteen foot drop, but the way she was going, she easily could have died.

He'd been coming back from searching the rubble. He;d been informed they were both fine, and he wanted top make sure Jim was dead. They hadn't even found the remains. Six guards dead, but that was to be expected, after watching the scene unfold until the camera was shot. But still, he could only hope Jim was dead.

Even now, he remembered her words.

_"They... they were going to take me away from you..." she'd spoken thickly, and he knew she'd already been drug. He slipped his hand under her wrist to take a pulse and make sure it was steady before he spoke again._

_"how did you know I'd catch you?'_

_"i didn't."_

She would rather had risked death than be taken away from him. He found it both awe inspiring and terrifying, as he watched her sleep on the couch.

She'd lost so much in her life, both parents, everything shed ever known seemed to crumble around her, leaving a battled girl lying in the rubble. And now, she;d rather die than have to go through it all again. Which led him to beg the question, was Mycroft right? Anna muttered something in her sleep, and he realized she was speaking French, swearing, to be exact.

He smiled slightly and pushed the questions from his mind, for now.

* * *

**What do you think? i know it;s kind of large, sorry to publish big chunk parts, but I;m back on the computer and I wanted to get this out there! Please R&R!**


	48. Off the Radar

She looked up slowly as Sherlock explained the next disappearance to Lestrade. It was becoming a series, now, it seemed, three children disappearing in the last week.

Mark was gone. He'd been deployed last week, it was April, now. And she was here.

"Anna, I want you to stay here. I might need you to text me details."

She nodded and sat down, sighing. He wasn't letting her in on the action for this one.

They'd traced the kidnapper's hide away to under a bridge and were probably going to find the victims. And she was here.

He left, and she sighed and pulled out her mobile, texting Zack. It had been too long since she'd seen him last, and spring was coming. She missed the country, the open air.

**I miss you.**

Zack texted back. She smiled. He was so sweet to her….

She heard a noise suddenly and looked up. Everyone was gone, but it could've been a janitor…. No. janitors came in on Wednesday.

Her mobile beeped again. She glanced down at it.

**Anna? What's wrong? You always text back in an average of 10.65 seconds.**

She heard another noise, and the door swung open. She found herself staring into the eyes of the kidnapper.

His pupils dilated when he saw her, and his tongue darted over is lips. Six three, beard, blood under his finger nails.

"Hello, sweetheart." Gravelly voice. She resisted the urge to shudder.

He stepped forward and she stepped back, wondering what to do. She'd faced assassins, drunks, and Moriarty, but this man…. She could already deduce what he wanted.

"You're pretty.'

"Get away from me.' She muttered.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward, and she kicked him in the groin. He doubled over and she grabbed her phone and hit Sherlock's contact. It started calling.

He swore and slammed her up against the wall. She bit him and elbowed him in the ribs, and he yelled. She had her phone on speaker, she could hear it ringing under Lestrade's desk.

"Get away from me!" the primitive scream had been torn from somewhere deep inside her, a huge fear inside her. Most assassins were professional, only wanted her for money, but this man was anything but professional. He was disgusting.  
He would take her away from Sherlock, as well.

"Don't fight me, sweetheart." He said.

"Get away!" She had a pocket knife and she stabbed him in the arm. He yelled. Her mobile had stopped ringing, and she could have sworn she'd heard Sherlock on the other end of it.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, help!" she screamed desperately. The man wasn't close to her, but she was in full blown panic, now.

He pulled a gun and fired, missing, and she kicked the gun from his hand and stabbed him in the shoulder, now.

He swore and yelled, and staggered back. She could still smell his cologne, play boy, she thought. She hated him, she hated him….

She kicked him in the groin again. She noticed the handcuffs Lestrade had left on his desk and grabbed them, slamming one of the man and the other on the radiator and turning, running into the closet.

She slammed the door behind her and gasped, trying to catch her breath. It smelled like cleaning supplies and chemicals, it was dark, but the fumes from bleach and toilet cleaner helped to calm her down. It was dark, the freak was handcuffed to the radiator….

She heard the door to the office open and took a breath.

The kidnapper moaned.

"where is she?' dopvahan askdd. She could have sworn she'd heard a note of anxiousness in her voice.

Sherlock had already deduced where she was and opened the door.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded and shakily stood.

Sherlock looked at her as she stepped ino the light. Her fists were clenched, but her hands were still shaking, her face was as white as snow, and she was clutching her bloody knife….

She wasn't hurt, but he could tell she;d been shaken.

"Are you alright?' Lestrade asked eyes anxious. She nodded, lips pressed tight together.

"Sally, do the interview." Lestrade handed her a file, and they went into another room.

Donovan sat down across from her.

"Are you sure you're alright?' she asked, brown eyes worried.

"I… yeah, I'm alright.'

Donovan nodded, pen poised. "what did he do to you?'

"Nothing. He tried to grab me, but I didn't let him. It was more the potential of what he could do…."

Donovan nodded. "I've been in that situation before, once…."

She was slightly surprised Donovan was engaging her, comforting her, almost.

"So, you stabbed him, right?'

"Multiple times. I think I got blood on the floor, but eh deserved it…."

"yeah, he did." Donovan agreed.

"So, you fought him off, then?'

She nodded, and Donovan scrawled something down and close the file.

"Why... why do you live with him?"

"Who?" she asked, not used to Sally calling Sherlock anything but Freak.

"Your uncle. I mean, he doesn't seem like he's one for children or anything.'

"I'm not a child." She said sharply, and Sally recoiled.

"I… sorry, I just…. I hate it when people think of me as a child, you know, someone who playing in the sand box and drools and stuff…."

Sally nodded. "teenager, then. You're thirteen, right? He doesn't seem like one for teenagers.'

She shrugged. "depends ion the personality, really. He knew my parents, me, he knew me when I was little, came to visit sometimes…." She fingered the black stone on the necklace he'd given her. "We're wired the same way, I guess, he likes having someone who thinks the same way, likes to sort of have someone on his level who he can explain things to…."

"Teaching you arrogance, you mean?' Sally asked, her eyes taking on a hard look.

She went defensive "what has he done to you, Sal… I mean, Mrs. Donovan? She said.

Donovan opened her mouth to continued and closed it as Anna spoke again. "that first day I met you, you were yelling at him for taking me to a crime scene. I asked if it was proper for a woman to be on a forensic team to throw you off. I did it because you bothered me, assuming I didn't want to be there and calling Sherlock a freak.'

Donovan sighed. "Alright, I agree, I might have deserved that, but he's so… arrogant. How the heck do you deal with it?"

She shrugged. "He's not arrogant when he talks to me. With you, you call him freak and you're mean to him and think he's going to be a murderer…. He's just smart. Maybe he'd drop the arrogance if you had a better attitude."

This hit sally with shocking reasonableness, and she was surprised all this information was coming from a thirteen year old girl.

"Wait, he actually talks to you? I thought he just yelled at you.'

"He yelled at me when I set off a landmine, because he didn't want to have to see me blown apart. He explains things, lets me do things other people wouldn't…."

"Such as?" Donovan asked raising her eyebrows.

"Everything I already do.'

Sally nodded. "alright, then. You're not as strange as I thought. Er… that came out wrong…." She apologized.

She shrugged "it's alright. I don't need you to tell me what I am or am not. I've got Zack for that."

"Zack?" she asked, looking surprised.

"Yes, Sargent, you're not the only one who can have a lover." She said, smiling slightly at Donovan's surprise.

"Is he nice?"

"Yes, wonderful. He's one of the boys back home…."

She realized Sherlock would be waiting. "I have to go. Anyways, nice talking to you, I guess…."

"Yeah, you're alright, Anna." Sally said, gathering up her things as they left.

Sherlock cast a glance at her as they walked home. She'd regained some color to her complexion, but he was still worried. She was alright, he knew, but he was still haunted by what could have happened….

"Are you alright?" He asked.

"yes, for the third time,. He didn't even scratch me.'

John was still looking at her warily, though. "It sounded bad. On the phone, it did."

She sighed. "yes, I panicked a little, he scared me…."

"As he should have. He was a freak." Sherlock said coldly. He was more pensive than ever about this, now. On the man's arm, while Anna had been with Donovan, he'd found a name tattooed in black. Moriarty.

She nodded as they reached 221 B. She walked slowly upstairs and tossed her coat onto a chair, nodding to both of them.

"'Night, guys."

"Good night." John replied, while Sherlock simply nodded and sat down, hands folded, thinking.

While she still slept, he went into his room an hour later and grabbed his mobile.

"Hello?" he knew Mycroft would be up at this ungodly hour.

"Mycroft. What boarding school were you going to send her too?'

"What?" Mycroft asked, shocked.

"Look, Moriarty is getting dangerous, Anna was in a close call today…. I think it might be best for her to go away for a while. Safer, anyways."

Mycroft seemed to take it in, and nodded. "so, you want me to have custody, then?'

"Temporarily. I want her at that boarding school you suggested, it's high security and seems like a safe place for her until things die down…."

"I completely agree." Mycroft said. "Standby guardianship, then?'

"Yes, but just until things are safer here. I don't think she's going to like it, but I want her safe."

"I couldn't agree more.' Mycroft agreed. "I'll have my lawyer bring over the documents."

"no! I'm not going! I stay with Sherlock!" she yelled. Sherlock entered. He'd just been signing the documents at a café with Mycroft.

He hadn't expected the men would arrive while he was gone.

"Your uncle wants this…." One of the men said.

He entered to find Anna with her knife out, ready to fight the men tooth and nail.

"Anna, relax." He ordered. "We need to talk for a minute."

He took her into his bedroom and closed the door.

"you need to go away for a while, alright?"

She stared. "why?"

He knew she was going to ask this, but it still stung to see the hurt in her eyes.

"I need you to be off the radar for awhile, is all."

She didn't say it, but he knew a million question were running through her mind. She'd already lost both parents…. He wasn't sure he could do this to eh. But better to have her hurt than dead.

"Because, there's something I need to do alone, alright? I need you to go and do this for me."

She nodded slowly. "you promise you won't forget me?"

"I already did, Anna.'

"You need to promise again.' She said, and he could see she was on the verge of breaking. "Yes, I promise. I would never forget you." He assured her, and she nodded, before bravely standing and going to pack his things.

She sat on the train less than an hour later, staring out the window. She was going to boarding school. It still came as a shock, even now, but she wouldn't cry. Sherlock promised her. He couldn't forget her. He'd come and get her back. He had to.

* * *

**What do you think? Sorry about all the typos, I'm posting thi hurry since my Mom is telling me [angrily] that I should be in bed now. I'm sorry it;s ben so long, I ahd this ready, but I've been so busy with the end of the quarter at school and getting all my assignments in...  
Sorry for all the excuses, don;t worry, I'll update Sunday, I promise! Still trying to figure out what happens next. Mom's warning me I have 3 mins and 20 secs. Less than that, now. Plz R&R! ;)**


	49. 2 Months

"Sherlock, we need you. There are some hostages…."

Sherlock mentally sighed. He hated it when Lestrade treated him like an assistant. "Who says I even want the case?" he demanded into his mobile.

Lestrade didn't hesitate to answer. "Anna's one of the hostages."

He was there in three minutes flat. It was at the boarding school, in Whales, of course, but the Whales police department had needed back up, and Lestrade had called him.

Two months. Two months repeated over in his mind. She'd been gone for two months without contact. He assumed she'd call him if she wanted to talk, and she never had.

He couldn't help but feel slightly nervous. He had no idea what state she was in, emotionally or physically, she might react if she realized he was here. And she was one of many hostages, from what Lestrade told her. Normally she was solo in these situations. He hoped she realized one false move could end up killing everybody.

Besides, she hadn't been on a case or in a life or death situation in two months, hadn't laid eyes on her father's semi-automatic in two months, hadn't had her skills tested in two months. He wasn't even sure she was ready for this.

But he had to hope she was.

* * *

She looked up from where she was in the corner, unconsciously slipping into her observant mode.

Her pulse was faster, her eyes dilated. She'd been in advanced chemistry, a class only the top tenth graders could get into, and the substitute had pulled a gun on them. The school was evacuated, except for her and five other girls.

They were either crying or looking faint behind her, in one corner, whole the man with the gun talked into his cell phone.

This was the most interested she'd been in two months.

Karen, a girl who took certain pleasure in tormenting her for her odd ways, turned to her now, eyes fearful. "You're a crazy detective! Do something!" she whispered, terrified.

"I don't want to die…." Some girl whose name started with a j was crying, mascara running down her face as she hugged her knees.

The others were all staring at her desperately, and she turned and looked at the man holding them here.

Six three, strong, teacher for years, been laid off. He'd planned this, planned it well, no doubt, to have everything working in his favor. The students here were almost all rich, their parents would pay through the roof to have them back, he'd get away. And she noticed the confident grip her had on the gun, the way he was talking about them like merchandise. He wasn't afraid to kill them.

She turned back to the girls, considering her words before she spoke. They were amateurs, they were teetering on the edge now. One word could send them spiraling into panic and end with a gunshot to stop it.

Besides that, she couldn't really do anything with them here. Risking her own life was one thing, but with all of these girls here like stationary targets, it wouldn't do well. She needed to get them out of here, first…..

Suddenly one of them fainted, and the others caught her.

"What's wrong with her?' J girl asked, scared.

"She has diabetes.' Another one muttered.

"Somebody get her to suck a piece of hard candy to stabilize her.' She ordered, remembering John's medical dictionary she'd read.

She saw the man was on video chat with someone, now. "Opse, one of them passed out. Better hurry."

The hard candy might work, but she knew sugar tablets would work better. Slowly, she approached the man.

"Look, we need sugar tablets, or she could die.'

The man snorted. "I don't take orders from you."

"No, but you do from your girlfriend, whose tired of having a poor boyfriend whose been laid off and inspired you to engineer this whole thing.'

The man looked shocked, but then his features clouded over with anger.

She spoke quickly. "look, I know you want the money. I get it. But you don't want a death on your hands, you want cash. Let me get sugar pills and I'll come back here, I swear."

The man turned back to his phone. She saw Lestrade standing, brow furrowed, looking at her.

She prayed he wouldn't speak to her, and he didn't.

The man spoke. "Leave the pills out front in a bag. Only the pills. She comes back up with anything else and I kill one of them. And if she runs, she leaves the other girl here to die.'

He turned to her. "You have two minutes."

She ran downstairs, skidded down the hall, and out the door.

Outside she walked slowly and deliberately, showing there was nothing funny. There was a police perimeter…. She had reached the bag, now, everyone was watching her nervously….

She saw Sherlock standing feet away and locked eyes with him for a second. She lifted her hin slightly and stood, before running back into the building, clutching the bag in her hands.

* * *

"how do we know she'll come back?" one girl asked.

Karen shook her head. "She won't. I mean, we were all jerks to her, she'd be insane to come back here and save one of us…."

"I pride myself on my insanity, Karen.'

Karen jumped and stared as she saw her enter, tear open the package, and hand something to the J-girl.

"Put it under her tongue. She'll come too in a minute or so….'

The girls hurriedly obeyed.

But something had fluttered inside her, some unknown bravery. Sherlock was here. She'd seen him, and something had passed between them when their eyes met. Some unknown message, made up of feelings instead of words. They had to get out of here.

"If you storm the building, I have a detonator planted under the room, it will blow up as soon as you set foot in it on my command."

She turned and stared at the man. He was negotiating again. Five million dollars was a hefty price, and Lestrade was trying to talk him down….

She needed to get the other girls out of here.

She had a brief memory of getting here. She hated the school, they hardly used chemicals, they were all far away, under lock and key in a bulletproof case in the office. As soon as girls heard she was here, rumors flew. She'd only been in the paper a few times, but people had grown to know her.

When she declined to talking and socializing and wanting to snog boys and be normal, Karen had started making her life torture. Ironic, she had hated to live here. She wondered what dying here would feel like.

She needed to get the girls out, first, they were easy targets. The girl was coming too, now, anyways….

She crouched down in the huddle.

"I know this seems stupid, but he has two guns. Does anyone have a tampon?" she whispered.

They all stared at her blankly.

She sighed. "Look, I know it's crazy, but….'

Karen shakily handed her one. "You came back. I guess you've got some idea."

She nodded and slipped it into her pocket.

The man was over to the right, one gun in his hand, the other sticking out of his jacket.

His hand was by a desk, and she crawled carefully over. He was in a heated argument, now, and she crawled under the desk and gently slipped the tampon into the gun barrel, praying he wouldn't notice….

He didn't, and soon it was hidden from view and stuck firmly. She crawled back over to the girls.

"okay, I need you all to hide under a table, out of sight. I'll make it look like you got out the vent, he'll make me show him where you were going, and I'll lead him away. As soon as he's gone slip out and go out the left exit, by the history wing, okay?"

Karen nodded and led the shaky group under a sink. They slipped into the cupboards and shut the door carefully.

She slipped over to the left and pryed open the grate, looking like she was just about to crawl in.

The man noticed her and ended the video call, staring.

He trained his gun on her and looked around, shocked. "Where are the others?" he demanded icily.

She tried her best to look fearful, but it was hard. He was holding the gun with the tampon in it, his other one was still in his waist band….

"I… I…." in three large steps he'd crossed over and grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her. Another few inches and it break.

"Where are they?' he demanded through grit teeth.

"I… I…."

"Tell me!"

"the east end!"

He grabbed her arm and raced down there.

As soon as he saw the grate was intact, he knew she'd lied. Suddenly her arm was on the table, he was slamming his gun into it, grinding, breaking, she heard the bone snap and struggled not to vomit from the pain the flashed through her.

"Where?" he asked.

She was trying to catch her breath.

He slapped her across the face. 'Where!?" he demanded.

She suddenly turned and ran. The history wing was the one place she had to stay away from. Otherwise, she could take this man all over the place.

He grabbed his gun to shoot her, and the barrel exploded, since the tampon was in the way.

He yelled as the metal flew, but his footsteps told her he was still on her tail.

He'd managed to pull his other gun, and bullets sprayed around her.

She ducked into the library, silently apologizing to the books.

She'd spent so many hours here, taking refuge among the wonderful books that didn't judge her, hiding in the chemistry aisle.

Bullets rained down around her, and she knew her books were a worthy sacrifice.

She ducked around again and skidded out the right entrance.

The library had huge picture widows, she looked over by the history entrance to see the girls were already surrounded by police. Now she needed to get out.

* * *

Sherlock felt fear well up in him as he saw the other girls. Every one of them but Anna was there.

"She went to hold him off." One girl said.

Somehow, he didn't think that was good.

"We can't storm it, he might have her at gunpoint." Lestrade spoke.

Sherlock knew it was true.

* * *

She made it to the hallway, and a stray bullet hit the fire extinguisher. Foam flew everywhere, covering her escape as she slipped out the emergency exit.

"Sherlock?" she staggered slightly, and instantly Sherlock was beside her.

He'd already done a once-over on her, deducing her arm was broken.

Besides that, she looked a bit bedraggled, and her face was clouded by pain.

"your arm is broken." He said, not really knowing what else to do.

"Yeah, I know…." She replied, closing her eyes against the pain.

Lestrade looked at her worriedly. "Do you want the ambulance to take her?" he asked.

Sherlock had already decided. She'd be kept waiting for a few hours with no pain killers, which it looked like she needed.

He called the cab.

* * *

"Hey, John." She said, looking pale and tired.

"What the heck happened?" he asked, staring. This was the last thing he'd expected, really. He was supposed to have a bit of time to organize his files, now, before closing, and Sherlock was here, now.

But taking one look at Anna, he knew why. Her radius and ulna were definitely both broken.

"Isn't she supposed t be at boarding school?"

"no.' Anna sighed. "Can you fix this, do you think?" she asked, brandishing her arm.

"Yeah, just, I have to get the bones back in place."

He grabbed a syringe of painkillers and injected her carefully.

"How does it feel?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Weird…." She muttered, leaning against the wall.

She waited for John to get the plaster ready and start making the cast, and waited patiently until ti hardened.

"What color do you want the wrapping to be?' he asked.

"Green, please."

John grabbed a roll of neon green wrap and finished it.

"So, what happened?"

"Hostage situation, I got bored, you know the rest."

She slid off the table, as it the cast was already done, and turned to John.

"Aren't you going to sign it?"

"Sign what?"

"The cast. Don't people do that? And, you made it, after all, it's art, don't people sign their art?"

John nodded "Yeah, sure." He grabbed a sharpie from his desk and signed it.

"How does it feel?"

She shrugged. "fine. Can we go home, now?"

He nodded, writing a quick prescription for pain killers before they left.

Sherlock nodded his approval, seeing what he was doing, and they all quietly slipped outside.

As soon as she entered the flat, her eyes lit up. She couldn't hide her happiness as she looked around, seeing the familiar messes and experiments all over.

"Get used to it. You're never going back to that boarding school." Sherlock assured her.

She nodded and grinned, before running into her room.

It was as she'd left it, bed made, chemicals put away. She flopped down on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. She was home. For once, she was actually home. She fell asleep with remarkable ease, being used to long, homesick nights when she traced the pain bubbles on the wall and picked at them, praying for sleep that would never come.

Sherlock turned off the light in her room and shut the door, going out to find john on the couch.

"She's never going back?" he asked.

Sherlock shook his head.

'But Moriarty's still out there."

"Yes, but she was never safe at that boarding school. She's never been hurt this badly while she was here.'

John nodded his agreement. "Yeah, but doesn't Mycroft have custody?"

Sherlock smiled. 'I conveniently forgot to sign my name on that document.' He said.

John grinned. "You're insane."

"No, I'm just smart.'

"Whatever."

Sherlock smiled, still. He could hear her breathing in her room when he focused, and he'd sat on he bed those nights she was gone, smelling her scent, lavender and hand soap, mostly, wondering what she was doing. He'd been driven nearly insane by the silence, but now she was back, and the silence wasn't the same. It was the wonderful, peaceful silence he'd grown to love.

"you missed her, didn't you?' John asked, expecting to be brushed off by his sociopath flat mate.

"Yes. I did." He admitted quietly, before he slipped into his room, leaving a stunned John behind him.


	50. Red Bull

**Hey guys! i know I haven't updated in awhile but I ahd writers block, triyng to figure out how to keep their summer interesting! Anyways, here it is, it's a bit fluffy but I figured it'd be fun until I get the next plot kicker going! Enhances her relationship with john in a fatherly kind of way. R&R, please! :)**

* * *

She found her first week back in London to be wonderful. She could actually sleep here, it smelled like home. She heard the violin playing in the living room at all hours of the day, smelled John's aftershave and tea brewing, everything was familiar.

At boarding school she'd spent the nights tracing the bubbles of paint on the wall to her room, hoping for sleep that would never come.

Even when it did, it was laced with nightmares and terror. There was one good part of the dream when Sherlock would crouch over her, where she'd see herself lying on her bed, thrashing, and he'd wake her up. And then she'd really wake up to find tears streaming down her face, and that she was still at boarding school.

She spent tons of time catching up on sleep here. It was the most safe she'd felt in a while.

She figured John was worried, since she was sleeping about twelve solid hours a day. But the painkillers for her arm made her drowsy, and she'd missed too much sleep….

Besides, when she first ventured outside she was shocked to find it so hot. In the Dales everything had thrived on the sunlight, breathed it, needed it. Here the buildings seemed to regurgitate it, the heat radiate off everything. Here there were too many stones and broken things to walk barefooted, and the blacktop felt hot even through the soles of her sneakers.

Besides that, she missed the green, the rolling hills and valleys, and so she drew the curtains on her window and slept most of the day.

At night she'd slip in her ear buds and play the sound byte of crickets she had, and then she'd drift off….

"Don't you want to go somewhere?" John asked her, after she'd spent the eighth day in her room.

She shook her head. 'No."

John's forehead creased. "Why not? I mean, I even got you some new salt and things to put in the microwave to blow up…."

"Tired.' She replied. She knew this worried john more than ever and she rolled over.

He opened the curtains.

"It's so dark in here."

She dove under the covers to hide from the light.

"I'm trying to sleep here, john." She said, annoyed.

"you've slept for what, a week straight now? Maybe I should switch your painkillers…."

"I'm fine."

"Have you been eating?"

"Yeah, when I'm not sleeping. Look, I couldn't sleep at boarding school, I've got a lot of hours to catch up on. Besides, there are no cases; it's good to sleep when you're bored."

John tried to pull the covers off her and she held on tightly.

"If you don't do something I'll assume you're sick and take you to the hospital.' John threatened.

"Can I have another painkiller?' she asked. It was around time for them, anyways.

"Yeah, I guess…." John gave her the pill and she eagerly took it.

The dull throbbing in her arm slowly stopped.

"Is the arm bothering you?" John asked, concern again etched into the creases of worry on his face. For her to be so listless was one thing, and her asking for medication just made his worry go up a notch.

"Not as much as you are.' She replied, sighing.

"I'm serious, Anna, have you done anything for the past week? I'm worried about you."

She nodded "Yes, John, I do things at night. For example, there's a finished Latin workbook over there, as well as a half done one on trigonometry, I'm trying to ferment some orange juice in the corner, and I've got some mold growing in a controlled ecosystem."

Her mobile beeped, and she texted a reply before John sighed.

"Will you at least come out of your room, for me?' he asked.

She shrugged. The pain killers were making everything hazy again. 'Sure, whatever…."

She dragged herself out into the living room and flopped onto the couch, grabbing a blanket and wrapping herself up in it. The air conditioner was far too cool, and she felt comfortable and happy as she drifted off to sleep.

Sherlock didn't look up from his microscope, and John cast him a look.

'Did you even notice she hasn't been out of her room in a week?' he asked, anger creeping into his voice.

Sherlock sighed and didn't look up. "Yes, yes I have, John, but I've also noticed she sleeps during the day since her painkillers seem to hit her the hardest then, and Mycroft told me that she hardly slept at boarding school. Besides that, she's come out every night for an hour or two, and I know she's reading in her room. You forcing her to come out here does nothing, really.'

John sighed. "I know, but she isn't acclimating….'

"John. She just wrote a murder novel yesterday, I found it on her bedroom floor, and it's good. Besides that, she'd got an experiment going on over there; she works with it every night…."

He pointed to a beaker filled with a blue liquid and a canister of anti-freeze next to it, as well as what looked like a cotton ball floating in it and a copper wire and shoe-lace intertwined.

John had thought it was Sherlock's, but he noticed Sherlock never touched it.

"Besides, she would be restless, but the painkillers knock her out. And when they don't, her arm throbs. I can see it on her face.'

John realized he should have known Sherlock would have it all figured out.

"Fine, then. Want me to switch the painkillers?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I don't know, John, I'm not a doctor. All I know is the painkillers work surprisingly well and that she seems alright."

John sighed and sat down. "I'm just not used to seeing her so… listless…."

"Yes, the painkillers dull her senses. She told me that last night. Besides, she does have a broken arm, and she's at least giving it time to heal…."

"Wait a minute, why doesn't she want to go on cases?" John asked.

"She does. We don't have any, though, so she's sleeping. She's hoping I'll let her go on the next one if she rests enough. Why? Are you bored without her antics, john?" there was a slight smile on Sherlock's lips.

"no, I'm simply concerned for her well-being." John said stoutly.

"you act like she's your daughter. Don't fuss over her so much. She hates that."

John looked exasperated. "then what am I supposed to do!? I mean, she's hurt, she should be cared for…."

"She is. You just annoy her by hovering and fluttering like Mrs. Hudson. When she's hurt she just likes to be left alone until she's healed."

John sighed. "So she'll be like this for six weeks, then.'

"six weeks tops." Sherlock corrected. "And besides, she heals fast, I've seen it happen before. She'll be down about two weeks total, maybe, she'll start acting normal in two or three, and the bone will probably be out of the cast in four.'

"I'll decide that, actually.' John said, a bit annoyed Sherlock could predict the patient better than he could.

"yes, you will, but trust me, she'll be ready. She just needs time."

"time for what? I thought she was able to adjust quickly."

Sherlock sighed. "She is, John, but she's human. And the only thing she can really do to speed up the knitting of two bones back together is o rest. You'll get used to it."

John sighed. He hoped Sherlock was right. He'd thought the girl drove him nuts with her experiments and antics when she was awake, but seeing her acting so listless was going to drive him insane. He found himself wanting to check her blood pressure, make sure her pulse was right, but he'd already done that as she slept three times, and she was normal. She just wasn't acting normal.

If she wasn't up in the next week, he would consider giving her a five hour energy or something, even though he hated to see the addicts shaking and sweating in his office. But just one, maybe, to calm him down and let him know she was alright. Maybe.

* * *

She'd driven him insane by that night, still sleeping, and his nerves were getting fried. Sherlock was out doing something, he didn't know what, and he made a run to Tesco and did what he swore he'd never do. He bought five hour energy.

As soon as he got home he gently woke her.

"Hey, drink this for me." He said, handing her the can.

She sipped it. "What is it?"

'Just something to help with the painkiller.'

She took another sip. "It doesn't taste artificial or anything. Where'd you get it?"

"Tesco.' John replied.

She nodded and sat up, taking another long drink. "Wow. This stuff is amazing…. Wait a second, this I red bull, isn't it?"

John shook his head. "No…."

"You spiked it, didn't you? Are you going to kill me or something?" suddenly Anna's eyes were wide, and her pupils were dilated.

"No, Anna, I just wanted to make sure you weren't getting too listless from the painkillers…."

"Are you crazy!? This stuff is awesome!" she'd finished it now, and john was regretting ever giving it to her.

"Okay, how about you go back to sleep?"

"I can't! See, this is why we don't spike people with five hour energy. You should have known, you're a doctor….' Her hands were fidgeting uncontrollably now.

"Bored bored bored…." She muttered. "Where did Sherlock put my gun?"

"No! How about we play cluedo?" John realized how incredibly stupid he'd been and wished Sherlock was here.

An hour later, Sherlock came home to find John sitting on the couch. He'd managed to lock up all the guns, but he still felt stupid.

Anna sat in the corner, fidgeting with something….

"Flamingos are only pick because they eat pink junk…." She muttered absently, smiling lopsidedly.

"John?" Sherlock looked amused, and suddenly something Anna was holding sparked and sent her flying. She burst out laughing.

"30 volts can mess up pace-makers…." She muttered, before she ran into her room. "Electricity and Water!" she yelled, and John heard the bath water start running.

"John, did you drug her?' Sherlock asked.

"No, I gave her a five hour energy….."

Sherlock laughed. "Oh gosh, you've certainly had a time then, haven't you?'

John sighed. "Is she insane or something?"

"No, she just needs to be mentally stimulated. You've got her mind going a mile a minute now, she's going to act insane for a bit, trying to find something interesting…."

A blue flash came from the bathroom and Anna grinned as she raced out. "I knew the warning labels on the hair dryer lied! I'm not injured or dead!"

She slammed into the wall suddenly and grinned. "Fire works!" she grabbed a fork and shoved it into the toasted.

"Anna!" john was shocked she was doing so many stupid things, and Sherlock laughed.

The toaster ignited and Anna grinned.

"Sorry, it's so fun…." She was still fidgeting….

"Rubber bands!" she ran into john's room.

"What do you do when she gets crazy, Sherlock, what do you do!?" John asked, an edge of franticness in his voice as the smoke detector went off. "Why is she doing this!?"

Sherlock sighed. "I told you, her mind is going a million miles an hour, she doesn't care that she'd doing stupid things, she's trying to do something mentally stimulating."

Anna ran into the wall again and staggered behind the couch. "Nuclear fusion!" she yelled, and bust out laughing at the look of horror on John's face.

"Make her stop, fix her, whatever!" John begged.

'Fine. But promise never to give her caffeine again."

"I promise, I swear on my life!" john said and Sherlock turned on the TV to the static channel.

Anna raced over and stared at it. The particles of switching black and white suddenly seemed to capture her rapt interest.

And she was quiet.

"how the heck did you do that?' John asked, staring.

Sherlock shrugged. "the switching color particles provide mental stimulation. She's been on it for what, an hour? She'll sack out in an hour or two. She burns it way too fast.'

John nodded, slowly getting his bearings. "Okay, so she's good now?"

"Yes, she's good, just don't turn off the TV and she'll be fine. Once she falls asleep you can turn it off, and she won't remember any of this in the morning."

John nodded, and slowly moved to douse the flaming toaster with water.

'Well, that was interesting…." He muttered.

Sherlock smiled. 'Convinced she's fine now, doctor?"

John sighed. "Look, I don't want to talk about it…."

He cast one last look at Anna still staring at the TV.

"Have you had this happen before?' he asked.

Sherlock nodded. "When she was little it would happen all the time. Back then Mary would put her outside, though, she'd stare at trees and birds and sheep. The TV works in the winter, though. Just leave her. She'll be fine in the morning."

John nodded and slowly retired to his room, praying Sherlock was right.

* * *

**Okay, I know it;s fluffy, but I really wanted to write what she;d be like on five hour energy. Besides, it shows how well Shwerlock really knows her and how john;s getting a clue not to give her caffeine ever again. Besides, I figured ti would be funny with the sugar rush and all. next chapter is better, but I need time to write it and think of it, so give me some time, please! Oh, and I'm not posting again until I get 5 more reviews on this chapter, so R&R! Best reviewer gets my respect. :)**


	51. Old Foes and New Cases

She woke up feeling like she was wasted, or as close to wasted as she'd even felt. Mark had her drink some old wine to calm her down when she'd sliced her hand open out in the barn. Grandpa had always kept a few bottles of dusty wine out there, and Mark had her sip a bottle of it while he ran to get help to keep her calm.

She'd gotten so dizzy she wasn't sure where the ground was, and now…. She felt like that, but on a lesser scale.

She looked around to find she was alone and sprawled out on the floor.

She remembered she was at home, remembered sipping a five hour energy….

That explained a lot. She stood slowly, feeling like the world was pressing down on her. Her head throbbed dully in harmony with her arm, and she popped a painkiller before she staggered into her room and went to bed.

* * *

**In Afghanistan….**

"I want to girl dead." The man said quietly. "She's just as bad as her father was, and she's set us back months, killing 511…."

The other men nodded their agreement. "What about her brother?" asked another.

The man nodded. "him too. He stopped us from getting her last time. I want a night raid done on the outpost. Everyone dead. Understood?"

The men nodded, and the circle broke.

* * *

Mark sighed as he worked on the limited military network, searching.

Louusad. Where was he? He kept searching. He had to be here somewhere.

Louusad was trained in killing, a terrorist sympathizer who wanted to be put into power when the terrorists succeeded.

He'd learned Louusad had helped engineer the attack that had killed his father five years ago.

He'd wanted revenge, but there were bigger targets out there, so he'd put it aside.

But six months ago, on his previous tour of duty, he'd compromised a terrorist hand off. Rather than let the plans fall into enemy hands, the messenger blew himself up.

He looked at the maimed body of the man before him when he got to his feet, bruised but not seriously hurt.

The crimson blood seemed to stain everything, and the man smiled victoriously.

"You may have escaped us this time….." he whispered.

"but Louusad will not rest until he's killed you, and Anna." His eyes glazed over, leaving Mark to stare down at the body. His heart was racing now, he felt the cuts on him bleeding heavily, but he didn't care.

His sister was all he had left, now, besides his brothers in arms. But he wouldn't lose her.

He hefted his rifle onto his shoulder and fired, the bullets entering the carcass, piercing it, mangling it beyond recognition.

Only when his fellows caught up and pulled him away did he stop.

Tears were streaming down his face, he realized.

Everyone stared at him in silence for a moment.

"My sister." He muttered. "They threatened Reckless. They knew her by name. My father…."

Everyone knew his father had been a soldier before him, they'd stood beside him as he read the letter telling him his mother had died, that Anna was living with Sherlock.

Gordon, GD for short, spit on the raw hunk of meat that was left of the body.

"Burn it, Sim." He spoke to Simon, the smoker of the group.

Simon nodded and pulled out a book of matches, striking one and letting it fall. It ignited the cloth garments first, until all the flesh and hair were engulfed in flame. Soon there was nothing left but a few bones and ashes.

Simon swore. "Let's leave it here." He said. Slowly, they all trooped back to the barracks.

And that scene had haunted his nightmares for months afterward. Burning bodies, Louusad, the nameless man who had helped kill his father, who had threatened his sister….

He'd been searching, searching for a long time now, and he didn't even have a picture to go with the name. Louusad was still at large. And he wouldn't stop coming back for tours of duty until he or louusad was dead.

His father, George, had been in military operations long before he had. He didn't have exact numbers, but his father had helped stop and kill over 300 terrorists over the years he was in the army. He'd become a notorious name among the terrorists, so of course his children would become targets.

But he was dead, now, his father was dead. Couldn't these terrorists rest at that? No. He had no doubt Louusad was currently watching, waiting. Ever since Anna had killed 511 he'd been on edge, hoping against hope Louusad didn't know her by name. But he did. And now he was waiting.

* * *

"Wait, so you're telling me the security cameras went down, your guard died, and you lost tons of gems?"

The head of staff, Mr. Barnaby, nodded. "yes. And we need you to help."

"Obviously." Anna muttered. "First, what room are your security cameras controlled from? Do you have cameras in the camera room? And who was your guard? Oh, and I need the time cards, the records, payroll, custodians, whoever was here that night."

The head looked a bit surprised at being ordered about by a little girl, and Anna sighed. "you seriously think I'm kidding, don't you?"

Sherlock nodded to him. "Do what she says."

The man looked indignant. "Mr. Holmes, whose the brains of this operation? You or the girl? I don't want a _child _around here mussing things up…."

"Mr. Barnaby, I am the brains behind this operation, as you can see by the records of cases I've solved without my niece present. But she has a higher IQ than any of you and your lot of people, and I need someone who isn't borderline stupid to converse with, so either she comes with me or you find someone else to find your gems."

Anna smiled at the look on Mr. Barnaby's face, but she turned away to try and hide it as he flushed bright red. He muttered something and nodded, handing them a book of files and a flash drive.

"Just figure it out." He huffed, before stalking from the room and looking rather like a bloated orangutan wearing glasses.

As soon as the door shut, Anna burst out laughing, and even john had to smile at the look on her face.

"did you see his face? He was all like, 'I don't want a child mussing things up….' And he looked like a homeless man who got a monkey suit!"

Sherlock even laughed slightly, but hid it behind his hand.

"Okay, he did look stupid, but let's get down to business here.'

He started flipping through the records of who worked where.

"One of the regular guards called in sick. That's why they were down to one." Sherlock muttered. He looked up. 'He could be in on it, that might be why he wasn't there. Got bribed to tell information, and took the day off so he wouldn't be killed that night during the break in,."

Anna nodded. "Or he could just really have been sick.'

Sherlock looked slightly annoyed. "Who gets sick in the summer time? Think something through before you say it."

"Alright, what if he went out with his wife? Ladies get pushy, sometimes they really want a date night…."

"He's single, Anna…."

"Girlfriend, then. Late night dates are all the rage."

She checked his face book page. "Yup. He's dating."

Sherlock sighed. "Alright, ask his girlfriend if he took her out last night."

John was slightly alarmed. "Don't you two think that's a little too personal…."

"no.' they both said in unison, and john fell silent. It was the first case they'd had in two weeks, and they were both dying to figure it out.

Anna punched the number in on her mobile.

"Hello, do you have a boyfriend?"

John was cringing now, and Anna nodded. "Okay, good. Did he take you out last night?"

Anna listened. "Alright, that's good. Why I'm asking, oh, no reason…. No, I'm not, I don't even know him…. I already have a boyfriend, alright! And I'm thirteen. You can have what's his face, anyways, he's ugly.' She hung up.

"She was paranoid." Anna muttered. "and no, he didn't take her out last night.'

John sighed. "why are we honing in on this one guard anyways? I mean, he seems normal.'

"So does Sherlock, at first glance." Anna pointed out, earning her a look from her uncle as John chuckled slightly.

They were all silent for a moment, and Sherlock sighed. "I just have a hunch. Look at the facts. He called in sick last night, it's in he middle of June, so he wouldn't have a chill, he didn't take his girlfriend out, so where was he?"

John shrugged. "Maybe he got lazy….'

"Yes, on the exact night that there was a break in and his co-worker was killed."

John shrugged. "Maybe."

Sherlock turned to her. "Anna, anything intelligent you have to say?"

She thought a moment. "He's got the gems, but now what? I mean, there are going to be news broadcasts and things, and a ton of publicity, so no average Joe is going to want to buy them…."

"Anna, don't use American slang.' John said, a bit annoyed.

"My father was American.' Anna muttered, and John realized how cutting his remark must have been. But before he could apologize, she continued.

"So either he's selling them out of the country or on the black market…."

Sherlock nodded. "that's what I'm thinking. We have no witnesses, either, the one guard is dead, but he'd have to get in somehow to disable the security cameras, and he'd have to be on camera to get in…."

"not necessarily." Anna spoke, now. "What if he did it remotely, while he was on his shift like normal he hooked up a remote frequency to kill the cameras when he pressed the button.'

Sherlock nodded. "possible…."

"But then why did he kill the guard watching the cameras?" john wondered aloud.

"So he couldn't sound the alarm about the cameras being down." Sherlock said, realizing Anna's logic actually fit the solution.

"So where is he now?" Anna asked, getting a bit excited. Sherlock could see it in her eyes.

Sherlock shrugged. "I need his contact information…."

Five minutes later they were there, speaking with Mr. Barnaby.

The man's face was still flushed, a testament to his dislike of them, and he spoke crisply.

"No. His information is confidential, Mr. Holmes, and he wasn't on the scene last night, so I see no need for me to hand out his information now. I think you're accusing blindly. Good day."

Anna stood, something fiery in her eyes, but Sherlock caught her attention with his gaze and they silently left.

"why couldn't I explain it to him?' Anna asked, a bit frustrated as they walked down the sidewalk.

"He might be in on it. Besides, we might just be taking a shot in the dark, though it's highly unlikely.'

Anna sighed. "He's a jerk."

"I agree."

Anna looked up suddenly. "It seems like he's trying to make us fail, isn't he. We should accuse him!"

Sherlock shook his head. "he might be in on it, but he's stupid and devoted to his museum, Anna, he wouldn't do that."

"Then how come he's trying to make us fail?"

"Because he doesn't like us, Anna."

"Well so what? I hate half the population, almost, but I don't go around being a jerk.'

"Well, you did order him around.' John pointed out.

She shrugged. "I was simply working like he wanted me to, to help solve the case.'

Sherlock sighed. "Some people are just like that, Anna. All you have to do is get around them."

She kicked an empty can. "Yeah, I guess." She muttered. Sherlock studied her. She could never really hide her emotions like he could. Well, she knew how to put on a mask to cover up any obvious traces, but he could see it in her eyes.

"So, now what? I mean, the police know we're freelance investigators, they won't help." John said.

Anna was already on her mobile phone. "Where were you last night between six thirty and midnight?" she was silent for a moment. She sighed. "He hung up. I'll try again." She continued, until finally she got an answer.

"You do that, then." said, smiling slightly. She hung up.

"What did he say?" John asked, as they reached 221 B.

"He said he would call the police if I called him one more time. Suspicious."

She bounded upstairs.

Sherlock sighed and started getting down the dirty work. Mr. Barnaby was asking a lot, not letting them talk to possible suspects and yet expecting them to solve the case. That was because, of course, he felt bullied by their intelligence, and was trying to look good to the public by giving them a chance but making them fail so he could feel dominant.

Still, he'd figure it out if it killed him.

* * *

**Chapter 54: Creativity and the trip to the A&E**

* * *

"Sherlock, I'm going to die." She said, staggering into the room. Two weeks of trying to get information from the guard had passed without results.

"I'm so bored!" she flopped onto a chair. Sherlock tossed her a book of the almost impossible Sudoku puzzles he kept for emergencies, and she started filling them out.

John sighed and stepped into the room. "why are you two so obsessed with this one guard? Why not exhaust all other opportunities?"

Sherlock sighed. "Whatever." He started typing on his laptop.

"The cleaning lady, maybe." Sherlock said, looking.

He checked the files. "But she was only cleaning the other side that night, she clocked out twenty minutes early."

Anna shrugged. "Maybe she did, but that's not to say she left."

Five minutes later, they were back at the museum. It had been cleaned up and re-opened, but the story was still going around.

Sherlock sighed. It was July, now, he felt so incredibly bored…. Barnaby wasn't only hurting his own cause, he was killing them slowly with boredom.

"The cleaning lady, how did she leave that night?" he asked interrupting Barnaby's talk with a wealthy benefactor.

Mr. Barnaby looked generally annoyed at the interruption, but he sighed. "Her granddaughter picked her up, I think…. Why? She's not a suspect, do you still want her contact information?" Mr. Barnaby mocked.

Anna's jaw pressure increased as she grit her teeth and forced herself to stand still. She hated people like this, so arrogant and self-centered. At home in the Dales, people had at least let her explain things and learned. Here people didn't even want to listen.

Sherlock simply politely excused himself and found the custodian, explained himself, and called her granddaughter. The granddaughter vouched for her.

"Okay, so another dead end. That means it only could be the guard. Barnaby jut won't give us the information because he's stupid…." Anna muttered.

Sherlock nodded, looking at the office door. Mr. Barnaby was surveying everything going on, smiling, as though pretending he wasn't keeping them from helping his organization. He turned to Anna.

"Мне нужноотвлечьсяв течение примерно двухминут."

She snapped to attention and nodded. They spoke Russian when communicating vital strategic information. "получил его." She said, nodding.

John had missed the entire quiet exchange between them, and he turned to find Sherlock gone.

"Where did Sherlock go?"

Barnaby was talking with a wealthy looking patron, smiling his stupid people-pleasing smile.

"Anna? Anna, are you even listening to me?"

She stared straight ahead, appearing to zone out to everyone in the room. She crumpled to the floor, and john just stared at her for a moment, shocked.

Barnaby was instantly beside him. He crouched and looked at her still form, feeling both terrified and calm at the same time as he moved her to recovery position.

"Should I call an ambulance?" Barnaby asked. "And will you be pursuing any legal action against the museum of the affiliates…."

John tuned out the blithering idiot like he had the gunfire in Afghanistan. She had a cut on her head from where she'd hit the ground, he was taking her pulse now as he called for an ambulance….

"Anna, Anna, can you hear me…." She had at least a grade two concussion, bloody nose, her eye was swelling…. Barnaby chattered on nervously, and he even followed him as he gently walked beside the stretcher, continuing his rambling about legal actions….

This was so random, he realized, and, not knowing what else to do, he slipped his hand under her small, pale one, more for his comfort than hers.

She seemed so peaceful, so subdued, and while he held her hand he could check for pulse. It was a bit irregular, but it was getting back to normal.

"I'm a doctor…." He muttered, and he started stating medical phrases of what he'd observed as the medics worked.

He texted Sherlock repeatedly while waited, and he didn't answer.

He sighed, frustrated. How could he not care?

They arrived at the hospital, now.

She'd come out of it a few minutes ago, now he made sure she knew her name and his name….

He didn't need the opinion of the other doctors to tell him. She had a grade two concussion, at least, her nose was broken, and she had a butterfly bandage placed over the cut on her forehead.

John called the cab towards home, explaining everything to Anna. He still had to wonder why she'd passed out.

"Did you drink anything today?" he asked as they sat in the cab.

"Yes. Two cups of tea, and I ate a donut or whatever it was I bought at that coffee shop."

John nodded. Still, he couldn't figure it out.

She slipped upstairs and flopped on the couch, holding the tissue to her still-bloody nose. "Lean forward, alright, I'm going to get you some ice…."

"I'm fine, John…."

He got her the ice anyways, and she stared at it, bored, before deciding to suck on a cube.

"Anna, it's for your head, not your mouth. Women who are in labor suck ice chips."

She shrugged. "I wad 'irsty." She said, speaking around the melting ice.

"Then you could have asked me to get you something…."

Suddenly Sherlock entered, grinning. He looked over at Anna on the couch and smiled.

"Wonderful job, Anna." He said, flopping down on the couch.

"'anks…." The ice cube grew smaller in her mouth, and she finally crunched it. John could only imagine the pinpricks the cold would send down his spine if he did that….

"Wait a minute, what?" John stared. "That was all a set up?"

Anna nodded. "Duh. I would have told you if I'd had the time… Did you get them, Sherlock?" Sherlock nodded, and she grinned, popping another ice cube in her mouth.

"Wait, wait, wait…. Sherlock, you told her to do that?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I said, 'I need a distraction for approximately two minutes.' And she said, 'I got it'."

John stared. "But… wait a minute, you passed out, your pulse dropped, breathing was shallow, everything…."

"She locked her knees, John." Sherlock said.

John stared. "I cannot _believe _you two would do that! Anna, I thought you were dying, I rode with you in the ambulance to the A&E, you were unconscious for three minutes! And Sherlock, what possessed you to tell her to do that!? She has a _concussion _because of you!"

Sherlock shrugged. "Not my fault. I told her I needed a distraction. She could have chosen something more reasonable like starting a small fire or whatever. Besides, she could stand to lose a few brain cells anyways…."

Anna crunched another ice cube.

"Anna? What do you have to say about this?" John demanded. He couldn't believe Sherlock could be so heartless.

Anna shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I could've risked the arson, but it was short notice…."

"Anna!" John stared at them both, trying to figure out how to explain this to two children.

Anna winced at his sharp tone. "Concussion, John, concussion…."

"Sorry…. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you used some of the ice on your _head_…."

"Sure, always pick on the little girl…."

"Don't try that with me, missy…." He was on the verge of snapping.

Anna looked up at him pitifully "My head hurts, John…." She said, with a puppy dog look and pout. John couldn't help but feel sorry for her, even though she did bring it on herself.

He took a breath. "Fine. Just promise me you'll never, ever do that again, okay? You could have stopped breathing…."

She nodded and curled into a ball, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders and drifting off to sleep.

Sherlock chuckled.

"What?" John asked, staring at him.

"I can't believe you fell for that. You were yelling at her, so she gave you the puppy dog look and you caved. I swear…."

"She was hurting, Sherlock! You could see it in her eyes!"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, but I've seen that look before too, and she does it to get what she wants. She can cope with pain surprisingly well."

John gave him a hard look. "You're the one who convinced her to pull this stunt…."

"I didn't want her to end up hurting herself like this." Sherlock interrupted with quiet force in his voice. "Besides, she wasn't expecting the concussion, she didn't think she'd hit her head in the fall, she just assumed it would be a minute or so unconscious…. But she did and it's done and over now and it worked, so I'll deal with it. When's she getting the cast off again, John?"

John sighed. "She can get it off in two weeks. Assuming she doesn't do another distraction…."

Sherlock nodded, turning to his laptop.

John had to go to the clinic; his shift was on in fifteen minutes.

"Are you sure you can take care of her?" he asked.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, she'll mainly be resting, I know."

"Call me if she needs anything, alright?"

Sherlock nodded, and John hesitated, and then left.

She woke up with a migraine that seemed to almost send her flying. The world swam before her eyes for a moment, and she looked around. She didn't see anyone she knew, she deduced she was in the flat before she ran into the bathroom, slammed the door, and vomited for a minute straight.

Finally, she caught her breath and rested her head on the cool tile of the bathroom floor.

She heard knocking on the door. "Anna, are you alright?" Sherlock was here.

She nodded and swallowed, slowly getting to her feet. "Yeah, fine…."

She looked in the mirror. She was pale and sweaty. Sherlock had no doubt heard her retching outside, and she hoped he didn't fuss over her….

She splashed cold water of her face and rinsed out her mouth, trying to get rid of the awful taste. Finally, she flushed the mess and stood, staggering back out.

She leaned on the wall for a moment, taking a breath or two.

She felt Sherlock steady her, though the room was still spinning, and she staggered back over to the couch and sat heavily.

"You've been vomiting." Sherlock said, with a note of concern in his voice.

"I noticed that." She said quietly, trying to fight off the pounding pain. Her head was a pincushion, being stabbed by millions of pins….

She heard the curtains close, the room darkened, and the pain lessened from needles to just a dull throbbing, now.

"Better?" Sherlock asked, sitting down beside her. She swallowed again. "Yeah…."

"You didn't have to make it that big a distraction." Sherlock said quietly. She shrugged and winced, sitting back. "it was all I could think of…."

"Get creative."

"Mycroft would have tried to get custody if I was accused or arson…." She muttered, eyes closing.

He allowed a slight smile to cross his lips before he spoke. "How bad is it?"

"Not very pleasant…." She swore. "Got any pain killers?"

"Here, chew this." He handed her a half tablet of Benadryl.

"Thanks…." She swallowed it and swore again. "I can't concentrate on anything."

"That's normal." He assured her. "And it's good. The only thing you should be concentrated on is resting."

"Whatever…." She muttered.

"Do you remember anything?" he asked, hoping amnesia hadn't set in late like it did sometimes.

"Yeah. Locking my knees, John freaking out, falling asleep, and puking my guts out just now…."

"Good. Sleep."

She was almost about to when she sat up.

"What if I puke again? Can I have the bin, at least, I really don't feel like puking on the rug…."

Sherlock nodded and obeyed, and she learned against his shoulder. "I feel blind. I can't deduce anything…. It's like not having legs and trying to walk."

Sherlock gently rubbed her back as she leaned against him.

"Don't worry, it stops, trust me…."

"Promise you won't let anything sneak up on me, while I'm… broken?"

Sherlock nodded "I promise. Now rest." She obeyed, leaning against him until sleep came.

He gently brushed her hair from her face. Her cut was looking better, but she looked pale and exhausted. The Benadryl would keep her pain down and her asleep for a few hours, which was good, since he hated to see her in so much pain.

Of all the injuries she could have sustained, concussion had to be the worst. To him his mind was everything, he made his living with it, had fun with it, got his thrills from it. His mind was the boat that carried his other skills across the water.

To her it had to be like trying to color code something when she was blind. And he'd promised he wouldn't let thins sneak up on her while she was out of it, so he didn't move, only sat with her asleep against him in the silence and listened.

"Sherlock, are we going to go find the guard guy?" she asked on the third day. She'd actually gotten up and read for a while, until John deemed this to have too much concentrating involved and took the book from her.

Sherlock shrugged. "Maybe. Probably later, he's a bit laid up, I imagine…."

"go get him now. Don't you dare out this off because of me. And tell me every detail when you get back, alright?"

He nodded. He'd been dying to go out and get the man for ages, since he'd found the address. But the man wasn't going anywhere, he was currently waiting for his vacation to Fiji, which was in three days. Then he and his girlfriend would smuggle the gems in their clothing with them and sell them there. The black market here was too risky, they must have realized.

"Please, go. I got a concussion so we could nab this guy, not sit around waiting for my wits to come back."

He stood, John looking quizzically over from where he was blogging about Anna's concussion. "Text if you need anything." she nodded, and he stood to go, grabbing his gun and leaving, John following behind him.

* * *

**Oh! cliff hanger! don;t worry, I'll update in a day or 2, just have 2 edit a little. Please R&R:)**


	52. A resolution and a skill not learned

She sighed. She really hated being left behind, but it meant a lot to her Sherlock had had the heart to try and wait for her, so she could come with him.

She looked at her mobile. The worst of the concussion had been on the first two days, and now she was only hit with dizziness or a headache once every few hours, but John still insisted she keep quiet and not read or focus much on anything. It was driving her insane, but he said it would make her headaches worse if she didn't.

And now here she was, sitting, wishing she was out there. She sighed. She hated concussions. Along with casts, and painkillers that made her drowsy…. She'd spent most of her summer so far either in the A&E or asleep.

Then again, it wasn't like she was missing much. In London you couldn't hike or fish or do any of her normal summer activities, anyways.

She sighed and hoped he would come back soon.

In a parking lot under a well-known hotel, the guards was loading up his car. In a small bag he had several rings that were famous throughout history, earrings, and amulets that had belong to rulers from the past and were priceless….

The rental car wouldn't be returned. He'd just signed the papers and was sitting down to go when he saw the man stride up.

He froze and started to sweat….

Sherlock tapped on his window, and he lowered it a crack. "What do you want?"

"Under order of the Scotland Yard you're under arrest…." Sherlock flashed Lestrade's badge.

"You have no right to…." The man sputtered, but he unlocked the car.

At the last moment, he turned the keys and jammed his foot on the gas pedal.

In his haste, though, he went out the wrong exit and skidded across the spike strip set up to stop thieves. The car came to a grinding halt, and Kevin put his hands up.

Sherlock had already deduced everything was in his pocket, and he tossed them to John, who searched through them.

"They're all here." He said. Sherlock looked at one and held it.

"No. Half of these are replicas, the density isn't right for gold, it's gold plated…."

He turned to Kevin. "Where are the rest?"

Kevin shook his head, grinning. "you'll never know."

Miles away, a pretty-looking blonde woman was studying the miles markers. Kevin had told her to get across the boarder to Ireland as soon as possible. The vacation had been a cover up for their escape, and they'd deemed it safe to try and cross into Ireland tonight.

In her bag she had half the jewelry that'd been stolen, mostly precious gems, and half replicas. They'd decided to do this in case one got caught, the other would still have a chance at striking it rich.

She was almost there now, she realized, as she passed another sign. Kevin would be here soon, and they'd be rich.

"She's already out of the country." Kevin, the guard said, grinning even while he was at gun point.

"then you'll be pleased to know we already caught her, and she's shot herself rather than get caught."

Kevin stared. "she what?"

"she shot herself. Tried to pull a Romeo and Juliet, I guess. Anyways, she's dying. They air lifted her…."

"to which hospital?" Kevin demanded, staring hard now, eyes wide with fear and disbelief.

He was going to take a random guess that the girlfriend was trying to drive into London, so….

"On the A1(M). Stopped her at a toll booth."

His mobile beeped with a text from Lestrade regarding a cold case file.

"she's just been pronounced dead." He bluffed. Judging by the fact the man hadn't denied she was on the A1(M).

Sherlock grabbed Kevin;s phone from his pocket. Hel;d received his alst text from his girlfriend, prettygirl236, he as guessing, at 5:03 pm, meaning she;d be around the dales now….

He texted Anna quickly as john called Lestrade. His bluffing had paid off. And Kevin ahd paid for her rental car, as well, a white suberaeu. The cops wouldn't get there in time. But maybe someone else could….

She found the text and stared.

**Anna, woman in white Subaru around Richmond, Near the manor, on the A1(M). I need you to see if you can get someone to stop it.**

**-SH**

She stared at the text for a moment, then started typing furiously. If there was one person she knew who could do it, she hoped he wasn't busy.

The summer was going remarkably well, and Zack had just finished driving in the cows from the pasture and was sitting down to dinner when his mobile beeped.

His mother gave him a scolding look. "No phones at the table, Zack." She admonished.

He stared. "It's an emergency. I have to go."

He pushed back his chair and grabbed the shotgun from the mantle.

"When will you be back?" his mum asked, slightly alarmed.

"Don't know." He said as he ran out the door. He saddled Ginger and in an instant was on and racing out the drive and down the road.

"What's gotten into that boy?" Mrs. Taylor asked, looking frazzled.

Mr. Taylor smiled. "I know only one thing that can make him hurry like that. It's for his girl."

Mrs. Taylor flushed, but she understood. The entire family understood, really. It was Anna.

From the text he'd been sent, it would be around where the A66 met the A1(M). He had no idea why he was stopping the car, but if it was from Anna, he knew there was a good reason.

Besides, he lived only a few miles from the junction, though it was woodland trail the entire way. He galloped Ginger as fast has he could, shotgun across his knee as he did so.

His mobile beeped again. He held the reins in one hand while he read.

**Here's a picture. Don't let her get passed you. Shoot out the tires if you have to. I'll have Mycroft fix the legal mess.**

**-AH**

He smiled slightly despite himself. Even when she had a concussion, she was still funny.

He remembered the text she'd sent him a few days ago and found it, re-reading it.

**Hafe a confussion, everythin is blury, John = freakin out. Head hurfs. Keef makin typos****L**

**-AH**

He stared at the typos now. Everything must really have been blurry.

He was still galloping Ginger, and she was well conditioned despite not being a thorough bred.

He typed as he galloped, making typos but trying to get it right.

**On mt waay. Ginger if galloping fasr, typos, y am I chasin her?**

**-ZT**

A moment later a reply came.

**She has approximately 1.2million in jewelry and gems with her that she stole. Don't text and ride. It's dangerous, and I need a cowboy to get her. The police are useless.**

**-AH**

He smiled and typed another reply.

**Of, soo Im a cow boy, nowww?**

**-ZT**

**Stop texting you idiot! If you're taking the back path, which you are, it'll take you about fifteen minutes at gallop, the rocks might be loose, and Ginger needs you to keep the reins up. Look where you're going! Remember the tree!**

She was in such a hurry she didn't type her initials, and he remembered the tree just as the low hanging branches slapped his face. He spit leaves and what looked like a caterpillar cocoon and slipped his phone away, turning back to put his full focus on ginger. She was right. Don't text and ride.

He loaded a shell into the gun, which he always kept in his pocket for times like these. He'd learned with Anna for a companion, you never knew.

He was on the road soon enough, though, and he reached the toll station. He got some weird looks from the man running the booth.

"Look, there's a fugitive female, about twenty two in a white suberaue on her way here. whatever you do, don't let her through."

The man looked stunned.

"Do you think I'm kidding right now!?" Zack asked,. The man hurriedly radioed his friends.

He wondered briefly where to place Ginger, but then he saw the suberaue coming up.

"you sure about this, kdio?" asked the man. He nodded and held the reins in one hand. He could see the shocked look on the woman;s fce as she pulled up and saw him.

"ull over." He said quietly. She stared. What?"

'I know who you are, and what you have, Pull over. I'm placing you under citizen's arrest."

She went to step on the gas and sirens were already blazing.

The woman was still staring. She looked as though she was about to hit the gas, and he reached across her seat and pulled out the key.

"thanks for the compliance." He said sarcastically.

A moment later he was surrounded by police cars, and led into questioning.

"Kid, what's going on?" demanded one official.

"That's what I was trying to figure out." Zack said.

His mobile beeped again.

**She's got the jewels hidden in her bra, I think.**

**-AH**

Zack read it and nodded. "Okay, they just texted me, I see it now. The stolen items are hidden in her… bra…." He flushed deep red.

"Are you serious, kid? Who told you this?"

Zack shrugged. "Anna Holmes. I swear, I'm not kidding."

Just then the man's radio signaled.

"All highway patrol be on the lookout for a white Subaru with female driver. Believed to be harboring stolen jewels." A voice said, over the static.

Zack grinned. She always did come through.

The men led her out of the car and into a nearby building, and he was taken away for questioning. Still, Anna had come through. Life was never boring when you had Anna for a best friend.

**Everyone thinks I'm a hero.**

**-ZT**

She grinned.

**You are, but you better not flirt with all the girls falling for you, now. You're mine. Sorry I couldn't be there. I tacked the photo to my wall.**

**-AH**

She looked outside. He'd be finishing up letting the sheep into the pasture and moving onto the cows, now….

**None of the girls here are even in your league, Anna, we both know it. Besides, they aren't the same as you. You aren't some product I can get anywhere. You're one of a kind. I have to go help dad milk now. Stay special, or whatever we are. –ZT**

She was surprised to find her heart beating faster as she read it. She missed him, so much it hurt, but she looked again at the picture on the wall. Stay special. She'd stay special, if he stayed himself.

"She has a concussion, Sherlock! When will she stop paying the price for your negligence!?"

"It's a grade two concussion, the worst is already passed…."

"I told you, she's not safe here!" Mycroft exploded.

Anna was out somewhere, thankfully.

"Really, I seem to remember her running out of that boarding school in Whales with two broken bones and struggling not to pass out. I think here is safer than wherever you want to put her this time. Your spies are running slow I guess by the way, she was concussed days ago."

Mycroft seethed. "I let you take her out of the boarding school without my permission, but I have custody….."

"I thought you forgot to sign that document, Sherlock." John jumped in.

Mycroft looked annoyed. "No, he signed it…." He pulled it out. Sherlock grinned.

"Yes, I did, but I must have misspelled my name. This legal document was signed by a Sherlock Holmes, it appears. Useless."

Mycroft stared, eyes bugging out, and john had to struggle not to laugh in front of him.

"Besides, we both know she's perfectly happy here in London."

"She'd be happier if she weren't getting constantly hurt." Mycroft muttered.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows as he shouldered his violin.

"Really? I seem to remember receiving calls from the school while you were delegating something or other, saying she was barely sleeping or eating and wasn't engaging with other students…."

That call had almost made him withdrawal her, but he hadn't, since he'd been too afraid of Moriarti then. Now, however, he knew Jim wouldn't be back for a while. He hoped, at least.

Just then Anna entered, grinning. "I bought the salt peter thing! Can we make fireworks with it?"

Then she noticed Mycroft, and instantly all eagerness vanished.

"Why's _he _here?" she asked, looking annoyed at him, her expression almost as loathing as Sherlock's.

"Because he's being himself, Anna, which is annoying." Sherlock replied, lazily plucking the strings on the violin.

"Can you make him leave?" she asked.

"Excuse me, but I can hear everything you're saying." Mycroft said, looking annoyed.

She turned to him, green eyes nonchalant with a spark of defiance thrown in. "I know. I just don't care."

Mycroft sighed. "You teach her not to respect anyone…."

"Not true. Who do you respect, Anna?"

She thought for a moment. "Einstein, the Prime Minister, and people who have guns pointed at you."

Sherlock nodded. "Well said. But you forgot people who can stab impale or otherwise kill you."

"She was involved in the chase, wasn't she, with the jewels." Mycroft interrupted.

She shrugged. "I sent a few text messages…."

'You got that Mack boy involved, didn't you?"

She looked even more annoyed. "His name is Zack. Zack Taylor, from back home." She'd set up the chess board and was playing a game against herself, now. 'And he did it because I asked him to."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "He shot out the tires because you asked him to. And if you'd been wrong and he'd shot out someone else's tires?"

Anna cast a glance at him. "I wasn't wrong."

"But if you had been…."

"I thought politicians don't go down the road of what ifs, Mycroft." She said cunningly, making Sherlock chuckle.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Quit dodging my questions."

"Then quit dodging mine."

She moved a rook forward to put the black piece in check, and pondered the best was to get out of it.

"Do you even want a bright future?" Mycroft asked. "You were doing so well in your classes at boarding school…."

"I was bored. Incredibly, entirely bored. The most interesting thing that happened was when I broke my arm. And I'm getting the cast off tomorrow."

"Maybe. If I think you're ready." John cut in, and she rolled her eyes.

She moved another piece, turning back to the chess board. "Besides, I'm in tenth grade, I can graduate by next year. I don't need your suggestions on how to live my life. I'm happy here."

Sherlock resisted the smile that pulled at his lips. John shook his head and turned away, but he was amused, as well.

"What if I enrolled you at a boarding school here in London? At the beginning semester, I think that would be good…."

"No!" She stared, alarmed. "Practically everyone else my age is an idiot." She moved another piece on the board and sighed. "Sherlock, will you play? I can't win against myself."

Sherlock nodded and slipped over to sit across from her.

"Besides, Fall term doesn't start until September. It's the first of august. I'll be in eleventh grade by then."

She said nothing more, only silently engaged in the battle with Sherlock on the chess board.

Mycroft knew neither one of them would converse until the match was over, and he sighed, exasperated, and left.

Four moves later Sherlock smiled. "check mate."

She smiled admiringly. She had never seen it coming, they both knew it….

"You're eyes." Sherlock said quietly, so john couldn't hear. "They give you away. You can mask all your features but your eyes- and eyes are the key to everything. Everything people feel, think, and do- they hide it behind their eyes. If you can manage to close off all the light, all the emotion that shows through them, then you will be unreadable. At least, your thoughts will be."

She nodded slowly. "But what about my clothes? They'll be able to tell by how I've dressed…."

Sherlock laughed. "no one can tell that but me and maybe a few other people, and you can hide that as well. But your eyes, if they want to see what you're feeling, they give everything away. They're the window to the soul."

She nodded slowly.

She close her eyes and opened them, and slowly looked up at him….

A flicker of glee came behind them.

"No, it's still coming through." He said. "Try again."

She failed miserably this time.

Sherlock sighed. "It's not just your eyes in general, it's the way you look. Eye lids open, eyebrows raised or down, eyes closed or open, moving around or not…. Just try to focus on one thing and zone out, sort of retreat…."

She tried one last time, but her frustration clearly showed.

"I'm never going to get this." She muttered.

"It takes practice. You'll never get it if you keep whining." He admonished. She sighed. "Whatever…." Her mobile beeped and she checked it. Her eyes lit up as she found it was a text from Zack, and he could tell she was happy….

"You're letting it all show. It's like practically telling me what's going on inside your head."

"Well I don't mean to be!" she said, and sighed. "Besides, Mum was never one to hide things from others."

"She could do it, too, hide her emotions. It's good to do in high stress situations. Better to keep the enemy guessing…."

She nodded and tapped a reply to Zack.

"I have to go somewhere." She said absently, slipping on her shoes before she left hurriedly.

He realized she'd been dazed, inside herself, almost. And he hadn't been able to read her.

She slipped down into the tube station. Here was always a good place for adventure, really, and she sat down on a cold bench.

The tube tunnels,. Along with the alleys, were always good places to find adventure, like the woods back home. Except here you could get mugged and run down and kidnapped and murdered….

She studied the graffiti on the wall, still trying to figure out how to mask her emotions. She said everything through her eyes, most of the time, the thoughts in her head seemed to seep out and give her away.

She didn't sleep, only spent the night wandering London, staring into people's eyes, trying to figure out how Sherlock did it. When she finally gave up and slipped back to the flat, it was dawn, and she hadn't figured it out.


	53. An enemy is discovered

She felt the vibrating, dull blade vibrate against her skin. It didn't hurt, and a moment later her arm was free.

She smiled. The cast had been on far too long, as far as she was concerned. Halfway through august, and she was free.

John carefully felt the bones. "Any pain?"

She shook her head. It felt solid again, she moved it cautiously….

"It's wonderful." She grinned.

John gave her a look that said she wasn't home free yet, and she sighed and sat still while he continued to probe the bone and make sure it was healed.

"Alright, I think you're good." He announced.

She grinned. "finally…."

"don't do anything stupid now, or I'll have to put it back on."

She shrugged and swung her arm, feeling the muscles finally freed. "Sure…."

"I mean it, Anna, I'm serious. Don't do anything crazy."

She sighed. "Okay, okay, I won't.;"

"Sherlock, watch her. I don't want her doing anything dumb." John said. She rolled her eyes as Sherlock nodded, before she raced outside.

It felt so good to be free, to have two working arms….

She wasn't going to forget this freedom. She'd broken bones before, but it'd been a long, painful wait for the cast to come off. Six weeks of being casted was far too much.

She felt so free, she didn't care that she stayed out well past midnight.

It smelled crisp, august nights were warm, and she smiled and stared up at the cloudy sky. It was a beautiful night….

It was relaxing. She sighed in frustration. She hated relaxing, it was dull, boring….

She wished something would happen. And suddenly, a hand touched her shoulder. She whirled. It was pitch dark, but she saw the face. She'd never seen it before, but for some unknown reason she felt terror welling up in her.

it started to rain, clouds taking over the night. heavy, fat drops, like the sky was weeping.

"Anna Scarlett Holmes." he said, scarred face breaking into a malicious smile.

"George Lewis Reen. I remember him well."

And suddenly her blood turned to ice at the name. Her father. The man smiled again, and she noticed his olive skin and deep brown eyes.

"I knew him well. And I'm glad to say, you'll see him soon, wherever he is." Thunder punctuated his words.

And suddenly a dagger was in his hand. She was still frozen, but some primitive instinct told her to duck, and she did, letting the knife swing wide over her. But his eyes glinted with something like admiration for a moment as she backed against the wall.

"Your brother would be proud to know you've survived this long."

And suddenly she flipped open her pocket knife and threw it, watching it sink into his lower arm and tearing it free, slashing across his face and dodging as he swung his knife again.

She stepped back and waited for her next moment to move, his next flaw, her next time to make a blow.

The man clutched his arm, blood spattering on the pavement and he smiled. "You certainly are his daughter." He said, the smile gracing his lips as the thunder roared again. Some part of her wanted to face him now, kill him, finish him, but she realized that she had no idea who he was, or what he even wanted…. Had killing become so familiar to her that she was willing to do it to a stranger without thinking twice? Lightening lit up his face, his ugly, ruthless face, sparking fresh terror.

She turned and ran, dodging into the allies, tears pouring down her face and mixing with the rain, the thunder drowning out the sobs she struggled to choke back.

When she staggered into 221 B five minutes later, her eyes were dry, and she wore a perfect mask, so well not even Sherlock could see through her. Not that he tried. He didn't look up from his laptop when she entered, and John was busy reading….

It was all fine with her, though. She slipped into her room and pulled off the shirt she was wearing. It was covered in blood from the man, as well as rain, and she was drenched….

She could have just stabbed an innocent man, and if he came to the police, she could be arrested. But something told her he wouldn't do that. She recalled his image and couldn't help but shudder. He'd pulled the dagger first. He'd wanted to finish her then, kill her. But first he'd wanted to torment her by speaking of her father.

She washed the blood from her knife and tried to get the stains out from her t-shirt. He was no doubt a terrorist, she judged from his look and the way he spoke of her father. Her father had stopped tons of terrorist operations. And now here he was, ready to finish her. She'd kill him first, she promised herself. It was a waiting game now, waiting for the right chance. She needed more information, more details on who he was.

And once she found it, she'd be unstoppable. If he was a wanted terrorist she'd have every excuse to kill him, and if he wasn't, she was tempted to try anyways. He'd helped to kill her father…. Rage filled her so much, she turned and threw her knife at the wall. It sank in with a satisfying sound, and she flopped onto her bed, grabbing her laptop and searching. She wouldn't sleep. She couldn't.

Her father. She closed her eyes for a moment, going into the one room in her mind palace that was a room of pain and happiness.

The wallpaper was scenes, pictures of her father, but they were spattered with blood. She'd made sure to make that change the day he father had died.

But now and then, she scrubbed away the stains and saw him as he was.

There were boxes, worn cardboard boxes there, not like the normal file cabinets, in while she kept the mental images of her father. She walked across the red carpeted floor, so unlike the white marble of the rest of the palace, and knelt in front of a box.

She flipped through the photos, one by one.

Her father teacher her how to swim. A picture of her when she was seven, having a gap-toothed smile, with Mark beside her as they all held fishing poles.

Her astride a huge horse, eyes alight, while her father stood beside her.

Her father in his army uniform as he smiled at her, surprising her on Christmas eve when he came home….

She flipped through the box until the grief was too much, and she carefully set each photo back in the box, feeling the warm tears spill down on her cheeks. She opened her eyes and she was back in reality. But the tears were still streaming down her face.

She googled pictures,, checked databases, everything. She didn't sleep, but she didn't really care, only searched until the sun came up and she knew she had to make her presence known, or John would come wake her.

She made herself a cup of tea and made Sherlock one, setting it down beside him as he sat on the couch. He didn't look up or acknowledge her, and she felt a spark of anger burn within her.

He didn't even care.

But she slipped on her mask and grabbed her laptop, googling again. She would find him if it killed her.

Lestrade led Sherlock into the room, Anna and John trailing. She tried to mask her emotions, but t was hard, so hard to, now. She was angry. Again. Upset from being torn away from her search after this man, this jerk who'd killed her father.

But she couldn't let it show. Because Sherlock would get involved and try to keep her safe. And she needed to face her own demons, end this on her own, for once.

She'd had to come on the case, as well, since otherwise Sherlock would worry she was ill since she didn't want to go and then he might find out about her searching…. For a sociopath, he was annoyingly attached to her. She thought it now and knew it was a selfish, unkind thing to think. Sherlock was the only one who cared enough to take her in, to actually try and raise her. But she needed to be alone now, needed to keep up the search.

It'd been two days with nothing. Nothing at all.

She hated it, hated the bitter silence of it all. She needed to find this man, needed to kill him. But she had to go through the motions, had to be patient, until the time came. It was a waiting game, she remembered. Her father. Every day he'd been gone, it was a waiting game, waiting, praying that the news didn't come that he'd died….

"Anna, what do you think?" Sherlock asked. He'd noticed she'd been unusually quiet, and though he had no idea why, he was trying to find out.

John had noted her silence as well, but he passed it off as her withdrawing and pondering some riddle or topic she didn't speak about.

"I don't know." She muttered absently, looking around but not deducing anything.

"What?" Sherlock asked, trying to hide her surprise.

She realized he wanted her to deduce and snapped back to the moment. "I mean, I need a minute…." She stared at the dead body. It was all so obvious, Sherlock already knew it, so why was he asking her? She felt the anger flare up in her again.

"Drug overdose, someone got her drink and overdosed her on aspirin, from the looks of it…. Homosexual, as well, her wife did it, not sure of the motive…."

She was wasting time. She needed to find the man, needed to get this all settled. Anderson spoke from behind her and she jumped. Anderson snickered.

"What's the matter? Scared of murderers?" he teased.

"Buzz off." She muttered.

"Ah, reverting to American talk, now. Where'd you learn that trashy expression?"

"Shut up." She said quietly.

Anderson's brow furrowed. "What was that?"

It took everything within her to hold back and not punch him in the face and stab him….

Her father was American, had been, he'd met her mother when he went to college in Britain….

She simply turned away and back to the body. She needed to go home, was trying to figure it all out…. Her obsession returned again. The man. She needed to find him, make sure he was dead.

Sherlock watched her, unsure. She'd never been one to back down from a fight before….

He turned to Lestrade. "Alright, I think I've told you everything relevant."

Lestrade nodded, and they took the cab.

It took everything within her not to fidget in the cab. It was so slow. As soon as she reached 221 B she raced upstairs before she grabbed her laptop and rushed to search again.

By the end of august, she was sure she couldn't find anything online. He'd hidden himself well, he had perfect cover. There had to be some way to find him, though. She hadn't written Mark in awhile, but then again, he was due to come home at the end of the month. No, she'd gotten a letter he was there for another six months. Some emergency or other. So she had to write him, now, at least. She still felt the pang of guilt, but it was replaced by her ultimate purpose, now,.

She remembered the mobile she;d bought him months ago and texted.

**Dear Mark,**

**I need to know who killed dad. Please tell me, I really, really need to know. It'll help put me at ease. I hope things are going well, but there isn't much for me to write about here. **

**Love, Reckless**

She tried to breathe, but suddenly she couldn't. Sometimes these moments of grief came over and tightened her chest so much…. Her eyes were watering, now, this was so frustrating….

Three days without sleep was too much for her to take, and she curled into a frustrated ball. She bit her lip until she tasted blood and let the tears fall silently, until sleep finally took her away.

John peered in on her as she slept. He couldn't place it, but something seemed off about her. She;d bee quiet lately. But he saw he sleeping soundly, wrapped in her blankets, mouth open slightly. He smiled. She looked so sweet when she was like this. Maybe he was overreacting. She was fine.

At two am her mobile vibrated in her pocket, and she snapped awake.

It was a text from Mark. She stared. Her heart was racing and it took a moment before it loaded, though it seemed like forever.

**Reckless, why do you need to know? There were tons of people involved.**

**-Mark**

She thought carefully before answering. She didn't want him to know it all yet.

**Tell me the main ones. I just need to know the names. I canlt let the shadows of men haunt my dreams.**

**-AH**

Mark sighed form where he sat. it was two am in the morning where she was, and he still hadn't managed to find Louusad. But he knew he had to tell her sometimes. He typed it and hesitated for five minutes, reading it and re-reading it, before he hit send.

**I know three names, Reckless, that;s it. Louusad, Maringon, and Jovey. All terrorist sympathizers. Try to go back to sleep, okay? The nightmares will stop if you just let go.**

**-Mark**

Her heart started beating faster. Names, finally, names.

**Okay. Love you, night.**

**-AH**

**Night, love you.**

**-Mark**

She wasn't going to sleep, though. She googled it hurriedly, staring at all the results. She stared at the words in Arabic and read. The images. There were no images for them, only names legends, stories. But she knew the names, now, three names she could match to the face. She was one step closer.


	54. An Obsession Discovered

"Anna, get over here!" Sherlock said, annoyed. She;d been acting so… irritating lately. She wasn't focusing on the cases. He'd cut her some slack, of course, figuring the concussion still had lingering affects. But now he was sure she was just being lazy.

There was one thing that kept nagging at him, though. She was always wearing her mask, now. She could even keep her eyes docile, like she was a vegetable, and he couldn't read her. He found it unsettling to find him so near someone like himself and yet so unable to read her. He;d been able to read her since she was a little girl. He wasn't sure if she was shutting him out now out of habit or because she wanted to hide something. And what would she want to hide?

"Anna! Now!" she hadn't emerged for her room in hours, and she strode out now, face masked and looking in no particular hurry. It made him feel even more agitated.

"Come on! We have a case!"

She nodded. It was early September, now, and she slipped out behind him and John, who was doing the night shift tonight. She still seemed felt his anger against her still building. He was trying to figure out how to talk to her. She hadn't engaged in conversation or a battle of wits in days.

He'd given her everything. He'd taught her so much, taken her when she'd needed him, and now she was suddenly ignoring him? They'd used to talk so much. He hated admitting it, but he was missing talking to her, hearing her opinion. He was her guardian, after all, what was more important than talking to him?

He still tried to figure it out as they walked.

They reached the crime scene, a movie theater, where a cleaning lady had been found dead between shows.

He ducked the tape and started into the theater, noting Anna's absent look as they strode in. Was she going insane, sniffing markers or something?

The theater lights were on, showing the custodian, heaped by her mop and bucket in the middle of the aisle between seats….

He bent down and studied the body, sliding on his gloves as he did so. He couldn't focus, for once. The silence was distracting him. He turned and saw Anna staring at a light on the floor, saw no deductions were flying through her mind.

"If you're not going to do anything, go outside." He snapped.

The comment stung, but she hid the hurt and turned, striding outside the theater like a good girl would. Sherlock… he was annoying. Her father was dead, she was on the trail of the murderers…. No. She was being unfair here, she hadn't told him about Louusad or the others. She needed to do this on her own.

It was boring by the deserted snack bar, and she realized she'd never been alone in a huge theater like this before. They had a one-room theater back home in the dales she'd go to, when a good movie came out, but never these huge theaters….

She slipped three doors down, to another theater, and quietly entered. She'd never been alone in such a massive room, it would be fun…. Louusad. The name came to mind again. She'd been brainstorming it forever, now, trying to figure out who he could be.

She ventured down the lit up steps. This theater was still dark, and the only lights were those along the aisles. It made everything seem more eerie….

Her father. Images flashed through her mind, and the sting fromSherlock kicking her out still burned. If only he knew….

"hello." She whirled to find the same man with the olive skin and brown eyes staring at her.

"Anna Holmes. It's been too long."

She stared, taking a wild guess. "Louusad. You want to finish me off, I'm guessing?"

He chuckled. "yes. But first, I want to have some fun."

She'd brought her gun, but she found the clips were gone. She stared. Sherlock must have taken them. Why had he…?

She didn't have the time to think about it, now.

She drew her pocket knife, her only defense now.

Louusad wouldn't use a gun, anyways. It would make too much noise, attract too much attention.

Louusad drew his own dagger. "Wonderful day to die, isn't it?" he asked, his white teeth flashing in the darkness. Her eyes had adjusted like they had at home, when she was out with her dogs on a night hunt.

"if you say so."

Her small pocked knife blade met his, which slid back and slashed her arm. Louusad kicked her face, sending her flying back and taking her by surprise, and she fell on her knife, feeling the knife pierce the fleshy part of her arm.

She didn't scream, only staggered to her feet again.

"You killed 511. You'll pay the price, now." he sneered.

She stared at him, hard, thinking. Focus. She'd stabbed him last time. He swung again, advancing, and she ducked and kicked the blade, managing a slash across his shoulder.

And suddenly a smaller blade slashed across her cheek.

"Oh, how your father would weep to see his beautiful daughter so ruined." Louusad chuckled.

Something within her snapped, and the floodgates within her released. She kicked his knife from his hand, and he moved, throwing her on the ground. She tried to stab with her knife, but he was too deft, and managed to twist her arm….

She kicked him and felt a hand colliding with her face now. She was breathing hard. He would die. He would die, today.

She kicked, feeling the toe of her shoe enter between his ribs and knock the wind out of him, the air left him and he staggered back, grimacing.

"you stupid girl. Like your idiot father. Never know when to quit." Louusad rasped.

"Shut up." She muttered, driving forward and kicking him in the groin, dragging her nails across his face….

And suddenly he was on her, slamming her down onto the ground, his foot colliding with her side in painful blows.

Colors of pain flashed before her eyes, and he grabbed her by the throat and threw her. She hit the floor and sputtered, feeling everything ache and shudder.

Her dad. She was doing this for her dad. That thought brought her back to her feet, and she saw the surprise in his eyes as she did so.

"Stronger than you look, stupid girl." He muttered.

But he was too strong for her, and he slammed her down.

"Get away from me." She rasped.

He didn't, and she found her knife under her in the darkness. Louusad lunged, and as he moved forward she moved, stabbing him in the thigh. He pulled back and gasped.

Sherlock had just managed to figure it out and was slipping into the lobby with Lestrade and John when he noticed.

"Where's Anna?" John asked. Knowing her she'd probably wandered off- she was really growing average, lately.

"أنت الأمريكية القذرة!" He heard the yell in Arabic and translated it. _You filthy American!_

His breath caught in his throat. It was three theaters down, and he raced toward it. He could hear hard blows coming, now, as well as what sounded like mutterings in Arabic.

She had managed to strike a blow every now and then, but Louusad had clearly overpowered her. He'd pinned her down, now, had his foot on her chest... She smelled the blood, she could taste her own blood….

"Death by your own knife. How ironic. Your father will see you soon." Louusad rasped. She would not cry out. She'd been fighting for too long, and if she was to die to day, she'd die with dignity.

Suddenly the lights turned on in a blinding flash.

"Get away from her!" she herd John's voice go from bedside manner to battle-ready soldier, heard feet rushing.

Louusad turned to her, hoping to finish her, and she saw her bloody knife in his hand.

She made a desperate kick to his groin and managed to get free from under him, kicking the knife from his hand and using his surprise to her advantage.

She moved in to kick his wounded leg, and he cried out as she punched, until he managed to throw her down again. She sunk her teeth into his leg, fighting for all she was worth, until suddenly he was gone from her grasp, racing up the aisle and disappearing.

She grabbed her knife from where it had stuck in a seat, staggering to her feet and trying to go after him.

She felt hands holding her back, though she fought them.

"Anna, stop." Sherlock ordered.

He was a bit shocked to see her like this. She was covered in blood , though he wasn't sure whose. Her cheek had been slashed across the from the bridge of her nose to her jaw. Her nose was bleeding, as well as he lip, and her arms were covered with numerous other cuts and bruises, while her eye was swelling. Tears streamed down her face and mixed with the blood.

"No!" she twisted free from him and tried vainly to stagger forward. He'd never seen her like this before, and he caught her before her legs gave out beneath her.

"My dad…. He killed my dad…." She sobbed, breaking down in tears as she clung to him. "Kill him…. Kill him, Sherlock, give him hell."

Lestrade was staring, now.

"Kill him, please…." She muttered.

Sherlock shook his head, trying to let some rational thought come in around the shock.

"He's gone by now." He tried to assure her.

"I don't care. I want him dead." Anna said, so coldly it shocked him. She staggered to her feet once again, but knew trying to find Louusad was a lost cause, for now.

So she slid into the cab beside Sherlock, ignoring them both as they drove home.

As soon as they arrived back at the flat, she took a shower for thirty minutes, until John started worrying.

"Anna, come on. I need to stitch you up." He said, banging on the door.

"five more minutes." She said. John sighed, face creased with concern once again, but he flopped down on the couch and waited.

She'd decided she'd best be alone while she cried, so she stood in the scalding water for ten minutes and let her tears fall quietly, until she was done crying, and then washed her hair just stood in the steam, trying to breathe.

As soon as she stepped out the cold air seemed to fly at her, and she shivered as she quickly dressed.

As soon as she stepped into the living room John jumped up to look at her.

"Are any of them deep? I don't know why you insisted on showering first…."

She ignored John and flopped down on a chair.

She grabbed her laptop, almost like she didn't hear him.

"Anna? Anna. This is serious." John said, and finally he gave up on her and rolled up her sleeve. He swore once he saw the bruises and cuts underneath it.

"Who was he, Anna?"

"The one who killed my father." Anna muttered, not taking her eyes from the screen.

"And who would that be?" Sherlock asked quietly. He was watching her face intently now, trying to see if she'd react.

"Louusad."

Sherlock stared. "That;s all you've got? Louusad?"

She nodded. 'Two other names of the terrorists who organized it, too, but I want Louusad dead first."

John stared at her for a moment, pausing at placing a bandage over one of the cuts.

"how on earth did you find him?" he asked, eyes wide.

"I didn't. he found me."

"When?" Sherlock was leaning forward now, intrigued.

"today." She said quietly.

"Anna, don't lie to me. He found you before, as well?"

She nodded slightly. "once."

"Anna, how many times do I have to tell you!? Talk to me! For once you need help, no, twice, now, first with David, now Louusad, and you say nothing to me! He could have killed you!"

"I need to be the one to kill him." She said evenly, so calmly it shocked john. "I need to see it, I need to know he's dead. You can't help me, anyways."

"You know that's a lie." Sherlock said quietly.

"I don't know anything anymore, Sherlock. All I know is I'm going to kill Louusad someday."

John's eyes widened, and Sherlock simply nodded. "Alright. Is he wanted for terrorism? How in the world did he get in London?"

She shrugged. "he followed me. I think it had something to do with me killing 511. After all, my father was a known terrorist killer, and he must have wanted to finish me…. He's not going to leave London, though. I'll kill him. I would have killed him today. But you took the clips from my gun."

Sherlock stared. "I thought you weren't bringing it."

"I was. Funny thing, when you're all lined up to shoot a terrorist and all you hear is a click."

He suddenly felt so incredibly stupid he wanted to kick himself.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know…."

"I don't care. Louusad is all I care about now." She assured him. "And I don't care if it's illegal or not. I'm going to kill him."

Sherlock nodded, and the room slipped into an eerie silence. She held nothing against him, and he'd honestly needed a clip last night and found hers already in the gun. He hadn't thought of it, really, just taken it, since they weren't in a dangerous situation, and he wanted to shoot the wall. Now he realized just how stupid he'd been. She could have died because of him.

He remembered his distant looks for the past two weeks. It all made sens, now, her obsession drawing her away from everything else. Louusad He'd tried to kill her, but he'd seen the man's thigh. She'd hurt him worse.

He looked down at the back of his hand, at the cut Louusad had made as he grabbed his dagger and raced off. It wasn't deep, but it reminded him of how crazed she'd seemed, on the ground, clinging to him….

He looked at her now. Her face was again wiped of all emotion. Her eyes seemed blank, she didn't flinch or react while John dabbed at the cuts and bandaged them.

"Why didn't you yell?" John asked. She shrugged. "I thought I could take him. I told you, I needed to kill him."

Sherlock stared suddenly. "Curnon indicas mihi?" he asked. _Why didn't you tell me?_

She shook her head. "You didn't need to know. All you would've done was hold me back."

The remark stung. "So you'd rather be killed by a terrorist than tell me about him?"

She sighed. "That's not what I meant…."

"Then tell me what you meant, Anna. If you're so brilliant, tell me what you meant."

"David. You tried to protect me from him, were content to try and keep me cooped up here when assassins were after me. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Every time I tell you something you try and take over. I stopped the insanity."

"Will you ever listen to me?" Sherlock asked, sighing.

"You're not my mum! Quit acting like it!" she snapped.

"Well you're incredibly reckless! What do you expect me to do, just let you die?"

She shrugged. "I'd rather die trying to kill Louusad then live in a world where he still exists." She said bitterly.

Those words rattled Sherlock deeply. He remembered her after the news of her father's death. He'd come to be with Mary, to try and help her make sense of everything.

_"Sherlock. Thank you for coming…." His eyes were hollow, so hollow, the only feeling eh could see was pain…._

_"'sit down. You look ready to collapse."_

_Mary shook her head. "I can't. There are arrangements to be made…."_

_"I'll make them." Sherlock promised._

_"What about Anna? I'm not sure, but she could be teetering on the brink of insanity, you know. She stopped talking, hasn't talked for three days…."_

_Sherlock nodded. "I'll take care of her too. Just get some sleep."_

_Mary hesitated, and finally settled down on the bed in the room she normally shared with George. The bed seemed to cold, now…._

_He ventured outside to find her by an old pond on a woodland trail, Franklin the dog beside her. He no longer wagged his tail. It was as if he sensed the somber mood and simply laid beside her, head on his paws, remaining beside her._

_She sat in the dirt throwing rocks in and watching them sink. Her eyes were dry, but she looked paler than he'd ever seen her, so much smaller…._

_"I hear you haven't been talking." Sherlock said quietly, standing behind her._

_She shook her head, not looking up._

_"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked._

_"you don't always need words to talk. And I've been talking." She said quietly, the uncertain note in his voice telling him just how hurt she really was._

_"Who do you talk to?"_

_"The sky. Well, sometimes. And the dogs, ad Zack, of course…."_

_"Zack has come by?" Sherlock asked, surprised. She nodded. 'Yes. His mum needed him to come home and help get some things finished before lunch with his dad. He said he'd come back."_

_"What do you tell it?" he asked._

_"Tell what?"_

_"The sky."_

_She shrugged, small shoulders showing through the too big shirt for once. She was wearing her father's shirt, he realized._

_"Anything I need to. I talk to it at night, with Zack."_

_"With words?"_

_She nodded. "you think I'm a nutter, don't you?" she asked. He crouched down beside her. "no. I think you're brilliant." He slipped his finger under her chin and made her look up at him._

_"And your father would have loved you. He still does. No one can take that love away from you."_

_She shook her head, tears forming in her eyes._

_"He wanted me to give this to you. If it ever happened." He handed her the golden locket. Inside was a picture of the family, and a lock of George's hair._

_She clutched it in her hand and nodded, and he gently did up the clasp._

_"go talk to the sky, now, if you want to." He spoke, and she nodded, scrambling down in the fields below._

Even now, he remembered the lost look in her eyes. But this had grown into such a hatred for louusad. He'd known she was capable of hatred, but he'd never expected it to be like this. Willing to die trying to fulfill one goal….

John finished the bandaging on her arms and she sat back, turning back to her laptop.

"he'll come,soon." She muttered.

"Anna. Are you even listening to me?" thoughts rolled around inside her head.

"I'm listening. I'm just not backing down."

Normally she was the one to go into her room when they had a fight., but this time she stayed where she was, content. He got to his feet and shut himself in his room, thinking, trying to comprehend his next move….

Stupid. He'd been so stupid, believing she was just getting lazy and distracted. She was never distracted, always had a purpose, was always trying her best at something. He remembered kicking her out of the scene this morning, then finding her fighting Louusad for all she was worth in the theater a few doors down.

How had he not noticed this earlier? And her obsession was Louusad now, she would never stop until he was dead, meaning she'd probably end up dead, as well.

"Mary, what would you do?" he whispered. There was no reply, really, and he sighed and stared up at the ceiling. She seemed to easy to deal with, most of the time. She wanted to have fun with chemicals. She wanted to solve crime scenes. And now she wanted to basically jump in front of a bus.

He knew she was sitting in the living room, almost daring him to try and stop her. Because she would never stop. Her mind was made up.

And then there was the hurt he felt, as well, that she hadn't told him of her past encounter with Louusad. How could he have been so blind?

He listened again, praying that Mary put some idea into his head. All he heard was the silence.

He texted Lestrade.

**Give me everything you've got about this Louusad character.**

**-SH**

A moment later over twenty files came into his inbox. He stared. Of course. Louusad had been at large for a long time.

He grabbed his mobile and texted john.

**Whatever you do, don't let her out of the flat.**

**-Sh**

He turned back to the files. Louusad wanted his niece. He'd attacked her more than once, messed with her mind, killed her father, played the games. And now he was going to loose.

* * *

**Hey Guys! too dark? I know I had her swear, but i felt it was fitting for ehr to do in the moment. Plz R&R! I know it's getting kind of plot heavy, but it gets better a bit alter. it;s sort of a roller coaster now, I;m trying tio figure out how to piece it all together. Plz review at least 2 chapters! :) BloodLily16, you are an AWSOME reviewer.**


	55. Reconstruction

Louusad wouldn't come back for a bit, she was sure. He came on his terms. He had for the past few weeks, anyways. She was only concerned with making sure she was ready to kill him when he did come.

All her information sources were exhausted, which stunk. Now all she could do was wait until she picked up something vital. Or shot Louusad somewhere vital.  
She'd noticed both Sherlock and john watching her for the past few days, but it didn't matter. She could always leave, no matter what they did to try and stop her. She just wasn't prepared for another encounter, yet.

Louusad would die the next time, though, she was sure.

With her mission temporarily set aside she had time to think about other things. She was never obsessed with other things; of course, killing Louusad was her main goal. But other things were important, as well.

Like fall. It was September twelfth when it hit her. It was fall. The daylight was slowly fading earlier, it was getting colder. And the leaves hardly changed…. There were hardly any trees here, compared to home.

She could imagine the harvests being brought in, the grass was turning from vivid green to sleepy amber, the leaves were turning brilliant colors and falling, leaving the naked branches exposed and waiting for the first snow….

She closed her eyes and could feel the chill wind whipping around her, almost smell the familiar crisp, dry scent of the heartbeat of everything around her slowing, slowing, to winter's restful slumber.

The problem was, she'd have to open her eyes again, and then she'd be back in London.

She looked out the window sometimes, expecting to see home, and she was still here. It hurt not to be home.

She texted Zack, begged for pictures of home. He sent her fifty, and she stared at them, but they could only quell the pain within her for a few moments.

She wouldn't cry, though.

She simply stared outside, wishing she was home, wishing Louusad was dead, wishing zack were here.

She didn't feel bored anymore. She felt empty.

"Don't you want a case or something?" John asked, trying to cheer her up. "Or tell me some politically incorrect joke you made up?"

She shook her head, simply continuing to stare outside. The hunting season would come soon, the long, cold nights, when she was normally out under the moon. She remembered hunting with her Father, him letting her try and force her way through snow up to her hips behind him.

She'd often tire out and end up staggering by the end of the night, but he still let her come. Sometimes she fell asleep against him, nose running in the white cold under the silver moonlight, and she'd wake up in her bed in the morning, smelling bacon and sausage cooking downstairs….

She didn't venture into London much, anyways. Sherlock didn't have to worry about her going out and running into Louusad. Fall here was depressing. It seemed like the people here completely ignored the season changing except to complain and put on warmer coats.

Sherlock had been careful not to let her out alone, but she ignored it, ignored him, now, and had been for the past few weeks. Things had been cold between them ever since Louusad had come.

Sherlock was itching for a case. He was also dying to be able to speak to Anna, to tell her the feelings he couldn't seem to find words for. He was upset, hurt, really, she hadn't told him about Louusad earlier; that she didn't trust him enough, angry at himself for not realizing what was happening sooner, and still trying to figure out what she was feeling and thinking. But he couldn't. Because she was a Holmes. And Mycroft would laugh if he learned he'd let a little girl hurt him like this.

There was one thing he always saw on her face, though, one thing that always slipped through her eyes. The sadness.

She hardly spoke, which was normal, but the certain look her eyes had taken on was like that of a miserable orphan. Which she was. But he'd always tried to make her forget that.

And he knew why, as well. She was homesick, though she'd never admit it, because she, too, was a Holmes. He saw it in the way she looked out at the small trees in the park and along the sidewalk, saw it in the way she stared so intently at the landscapes on the TV, saw her bite her lip when John stupidly brought up the cold. She'd always loved the fall.

And john felt trapped in the middle of the two, unsure what to do. Sherlock had always been his guide on Anna. Sherlock always knew how she was, what she felt, and now he was left in the middle between two people who were hard to understand.

And he was trying to figure out the silence between them both.

There were many silences between the Holmes, but this one felt like a bad silence to him, not one where they shared looks and smiles.

"how about we play a game of Cluedo?" john asked them both, trying to bring them together. Anna just continued to stare out the window while Sherlock made no reply.

The case. When a case came, Sherlock swore to himself he'd make it up to her. He hoped he would, at least.

He got the call from Lestrade two days later.

"Yeah, gang, we need help finding them."

Sherlock nodded.

"Anna, get over here." he didn't use ay venom in his voice, only a tone that spoke for itself, saying he should be obeyed. She strode beside him, casting hesitant glances around. John had just arrived home from work, and he came, as well.

"What's it about?" she asked Sherlock quietly. She hadn't used her normal tone or easy way of speaking to him since Louusad.

"Gang. Need help finding them. Not sure what it's about."

She nodded and simply lowered her head.

"knowing them, Anderson's probably mixing up the blood samples right now."

She smiled slightly, and Sherlock relaxed a bit. It was good to see her smile.

As soon as they entered, Sherlock stared at what they had. A witness of a girl who was clearly high and had no memory of the incident after she'd stepped of cloud nine, the body of a homeless man with LSD injected into his blood stream lying in a street, and the testimony of a prostitute. Not much to work with, but it would do.

"What about the kid?" Anna asked, staring down at the pictures Lestrade had uncovered, confused.

"What kid? There was no kid." Lestrade said.

She shook her eyes, blinking. "There was a kid, at this flat…."

"How can you tell?" Donavan asked, intrigued, now.

"Because, the woman's picture, her stomach's showing here and she has old stretch marks from a pregnancy. Also, it's dark around her. But the cameras on flash. You can see the faintest silhouette of a child here…. and there's a child's toy in the background of that one…."

Sherlock gave her an approving look and she shied away slightly, a bit bashful.

Suddenly she looked up. "So where's the kid?" she asked.

Lestrade shook his head. "She didn't mention a kid…."

"It was probably her child then, wanted to keep it from foster care. But from what you've given me it's a gang of homeless addicts and just plain addicts. But the kid, the woman is no doubt keeping them with her, meaning they'll have witnessed most of what the prostitute forgot. So if you find the kid, you've got a rather large part of the puzzle finished."

Anderson cut in. "Okay, Einstein, so where's the kid?"

"With the prostitute, idiot. If you can find the prostitute, and knowing your habits, you probably have her number, then you can find the kid."

Anderson looked offended and Sherlock laughed. She was advancing in insults as well.

"Well, I think you know what you need to know, now. Find the prostitute."

Lestrade shook his head. "We're going to need you two for that."

Sherlock sighed. "Fine. Give me what you've got on her."

Lestrade went to round up the files, Leaving the two Holmes, John, Donovan and Anderson in the same room.

"Little freak, how's the American slang class going?" Anderson asked, smiling maliciously.

"Quite well, actually, I'm learning a lot of the ignorant topics from you."

Anderson's face reddened and even Donavan had to smile.

"Why'd Sherlock bring you here, anyways? You wanted to try more drugs?"

"She's not on drugs, Anderson." Sherlock cut in.

"Well she should be, she's a psychopathic child….'

"And you're a womanizer with a specific hatred for people who have a higher IQ than you, but I don't say you're on drugs, even though that might improve your personality slightly."

"Freak, control your niece!" Anderson commanded.

"I don't take orders from you, Anderson, and she's not a phsyco, she's a highly functioning individual who can think rationally for herself. Most of the time…."

Anan punched him in the arm.

"What was that for?" Sherlock demanded.

"you know what." She replied. "And I can think rationally _all _the time. I just disregard some rational thoughts as pointless and move on to plan b…."

"Which is?" john questioned.

"IEBCIWF." She replied.

"What?" everyone in the room but Sherlock asked.

She sighed. "Identify the situation, evaluate the dangers, brainstorm solutions, chose which solution to use, implement solution, watch what happens, and flee if it turns out badly. Sometimes I forget to evaluate the dangers, though."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't admit weakness to them."

"Fine. Sherlock loves _the_ woman."

Sherlock glared.

"I'm admitting your weaknesses, now." She said, smiling slightly.

Just then Lestrade entered with the files.

Sherlock glanced at them and nodded.

"A drug house, she'll probably be there tonight." Sherlock said, as he looked outside.

"Address?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "I have to come. There's something I'm expecting to be there."

"Which is?" Lestrade oppressed.

Sherlock shook his head. "you wouldn't understand it."

Lestrade sighed. "Fine. We bring Anna, as well?"

"Of course. I'd be lost without my understudy." Sherlock said, earning himself another punch in the arm.

"Everybody out! Scotland yard!" Lestrade ordered. People looked up from where they were drinking and laughing, staring at one another. Some were too wasted to notice, and continued right on whatever they were doing.

Finally, though, Lestrade got them all either arrested or they ran.

"Anna, you can come in, now." John called. He'd insisted she waited outside until things were clear, and Sherlock was secretly glad.

She stepped inside, trying to avoid the broken glass. Her hands looked even smaller covered in the white latex gloves.

"Where's the prostitute?"

Lestrade didn't turn as he spoke.

"She's not in custody. She disappeared a few hours ago, they said."

Sherlock exchanged a look with John. This could mean they were lost forever…. No. He started looking around, finding things….

"Anna, don't touch anything." John said, sounding nervous.

She must have rolled her eyes. 'Then why am I here?"

"Sherlock, why is she here?" John asked.

"Because he'd be lost without his understudy." Anna said hurriedly. He smiled. She was very good at using people's own words against them.

"John, quit egging her on." He said, not turning.

John looked a bit upset and was about to protest when he noticed it.

The broken glass, blood on the ground, the smell of alcohol and smoke and drugs….

It was slowly coming together. Anna bent to examine something, tossing it to Lestrade. He was already starting upstairs….

"Sherlock? What is it?" john asked, a bit hesitant to see if he should follow.

Lestrade was already following, though.

Sherlock smiled slightly as he fingered the wallpaper.

"Thought so." He muttered.

"What?" Lestrade looked bewildered.

"This house, the radiators, it was built years about, probably late 1950s. This was an old house, not up to code, it was cheaper to just build a new house around it. And there's a door somewhere in the wall.'

Sherlock peeled at the wallpaper, now. A small piece of plywood covered what had once been a duct.

"The child's in there somewhere." Sherlock said, looking into the darkness.

They could hear whimpering.

Lestrade and John tried calling for ten minutes, but all that they heard in response was more whimpering.

Lestrade ran a hand through his hair, distraught.

"Alright, we should call the fire department." He said decidedly.

John shook his head. "This place is crazy old, Lestrade, there's no telling what'll be in there. They might accidently kill the kid….'

"where's Anna?" Sherlock asked. He knew she was small enough for this.

John turned. "I told her to wait outside, too many drugs and such…."

"Anna!" he yelled downstairs, and she scrambled up a moment later.

"I need you to crawl in there." He pointed to the hole in the wall. "And get the kid."

She nodded. He handed her a flashlight, and she flicked it on, placing it in her mouth as she prepared to enter the old ducts….

"Wait a minute!" Lestrade pulled her back and turned to Sherlock.

'You're really going to send her in there? Really? We have no idea what's in there. Does she even want to go in?"

Anan nodded. "duh. I wouldn't have gone if I hadn't wanted to. I'm not a bloody puppet."

"Relax, Lestrade. She's spent most of her life exploring old barns and rotted out haylofts. She knows what she's doing."

Anna already had the flashlight back in her mouth and slipped inside.

"Can you turn around, even?" Lestrade asked.

She nodded, light bobbing in the duct as she did so.

She could manage to turn around without much difficulty.

She could still hear the crying in the darkness in the distance.

She couldn't really say anything comforting, either, since her mouth was busy holding the flashlight.

"You alright in there, mate?" Lestrade asked, looking worried.

Sherlock nodded. 'She'll let you know if she isn't." he assured him. He'd seen Anna in small spaces before, she was able to crawl almost anywhere.

"Anna?" Lestrade asked.

"She's fine." Sherlock assured Lestrade.

There was a large noise a moment later.

She stared up at the decaying ceiling as she lay on the musty carpet. She'd thought she was crawling into a room where the duct was above the floor by a few inches or so, but instead, it'd been on top of the wall, and she'd ended up falling a few feet through the blackness.

She heard Lestrade's worried call, but first fumbled to get the flashlight.

She could hear the crying again, smell something terrible….

There. There was a little boy on the floor, crying his eyes out as he sat. He looked to be about four or five, with filthy blonde hair and terrified eyes on his pale skin. He was far too thin, and he had bruises on him, as well.

"Shh…." She calmed him. He looked as though he was going to try and run, but she wrapped her arms around him and hummed slowly, simply, like her mum had done when she was scared, and he buried his head in her chest and clung to her.

Donavan stared at the dark duct. The silence had been eating away at their nerves.

"Are you sure she's alright?" she asked. And then, the distant sound of humming came.

"Is she…?"

"She's calming the kid down." John said.

She looked at the child and shined the flashlight around the room carefully.

There was an old wardrobe in one corner, looking to be made a walnut, plain but still standing in its old glory….

There was mold on the ceiling and walls, as well as on the floor, and a lump wrapped in sheets….

She peeled back part of the yellowed sheet and instantly, the putrid odor grew stronger. She staggered back and stared.

A hunk of raw meat, what had been a human, years and years ago, now sat before her, dead. She felt nausea threaten to overwhelm her, and he chest felt tighter….

She knew it was her asthma messing with her. It was the mold and the dust….

There was a chair in one corner, and she pulled it over, climbing back into the duct, with the boy clinging to her underside awkwardly like a baby monkey she'd seen on TV do….

The wallpaper had been old, clearly from decades ago, and the stench of the room sill seemed to haunt her as she tried not to panic in the duct.

She'd be out in a moment, she needed to stay calm for the boy…. The body, it had smelled horrible…. Her asthma was making her nervous, she knew. When she started to struggle to breath she naturally grew anxious. Btu she'd only need to crawl a few more feet….

She awkwardly fell out with the boy, ending up sprawled on the carpet, trying not to gasp in the fresh air….

"There was a body in there." She muttered, as Donovan moved to take the child from her.

He screamed and cluing to her all the more, and Donovan knelt down, actually looking motherly as she tried to calm him.

"I'm here to help, sweetie…."

She finally tried to take him from her, and her bit her.

Donavan staggered back, shocked. "He _bit _me!"

"You're a stranger, Sally." Lestrade tried to reason.

"Well so's little freak! Are you saying she's a better people person than me!?" she asked, eyes wide and suddenly angry.

"I know how to handle scared animals, Donavan. It isn't that much different with people." She remembered all the scared, hurt calves and sheep she'd dealt with, and it was the same here with people, really.

She stroked his dirty blonde hair and gently hefted him into her arms, starting downstairs.

"Where will he be?" She asked suddenly. "Are you going to put him in a cell?"

Lestrade shook his head. "We have a cot we can use for tonight, until social services comes about…."

The boy's eyes were wide, but he seemed satisfied to stay with his arms around her neck.

She stayed with the boy until they'd reached the police department.

Lestrade tried to question him while he was with her, but he didn't answer.

"Are you scared?" the question just came. She'd been watching how he didn't speak, didn't answer, and still wouldn't let go of her. She wasn't inclined to put the terrified boy down yet, either.

The boy looked at her and immediately answered.

"What do they want from me? Do they have my mum?"

She didn't break gaze with him. 'We need your help. We're trying to find your mummy. How long has it been since you've eaten?"

The boy answered her immediately.

"A day or so ago, I think."

"Someone get him something." She ordered. "You like apple juice, maybe, crisps?"

The boy nodded, and a moment later he was drinking.

"Take it slow; you don't want to get sick."

The boy obeyed, but she could see in his eyes how hungry he was. He obeyed without question, though.

"Did your mummy leave you there?" she asked.

The boy swallowed and nodded. "She said daddy was coming, and she told me to go and hide, and she'd find me when it was safe. Is she coming here to find me?" he asked hopefully.

"I'm sure she'll come as soon as she's able." She said. It wasn't a lie. She had a hunch his mother was still alive, as well.

"Who's your father?"

The boy's eyes suddenly clouded with fear again. "he's mean. He hits me and yells…."

She nodded. "When did you last see him?"

The boy shook his head. "Long time ago. He was different and scary. He threw a bottle at me and kept yelling at Mummy…. He always finds us."

She nodded. It was sounding like domestic and child abuse, not to mention the mother's disappearance, and she was a gang witness, making her all the more a target….

It struck her what a mess this case had become, then.

She realized Lestrade was recording everything she said, and he motioned for her to keep going.

"um… what does your father look like?" she asked the boy.

The boy shook his head. "Forgot. I wish I never had a father."

"I'd kill to have mine back." She said, so quietly it was almost inaudible. But everyone in the room heard it, heard the want, the longing behind her quiet wish. The one wish that could never come true. The one wish that had taught her fairy tales lied and that the Disney movies couldn't always have a happy ending. Either that, or her life would never be a Disney movie.

She realized she'd been staring into space for over a minute now, and snapped back to the moment.

"What's your name?"

"Lewis. Lewis Dunfrey."

She nodded.

"Why do you want a dad?" he asked her quietly.

"Because your dad is broken. Most dads aren't broken. Most dads are like mums, but different, and they teach you something's better than anyone else can…."

"Where's your dad now?" Lewis asked.

She bit her lip until blood appeared.

Sherlock was watching her, now. She'd never opened up to anyone about missing her parents, except for maybe, zack, and Lewis was helping her, it seemed.

"Did your mummy tell you where she was going?" she asked, but her eyes were distant, so far away.

"No. She just left and didn't come back. Lewis bit his lip, as well.  
"Why won't you talk to anyone besides me?" she asked, wiping the blood from her lip off her face.

"Because you're the only one who seems different."

She nodded and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall. Tears threatened to come from somewhere in the back of her throat, in the back of her mind, but she couldn't allow them, or Lewis might cry too….

"Well you're not that normal yourself." She said, breaking out into a small smile that Lewis returned. "Mummy says the best things are ones that have no copies." He said.

Anderson stepped forward.

"We have to get a blood sample for the records." He announced. He'd already gotten the needle ready in tied the band around Lewis's skinny arm.

Lewis's eyes widened.

"No needles! Mummy always got different when there were needles!" he yelled, burying his face in her chest again. She realized he meant that his mother had injected herself with drugs. It must have scared him, the way she acted when she was high.

"No needles! No needles!" Lewis kept screaming, and Anderson still moved forward, trying to pin down his flailing arm….

Lewis was sobbing, now….

She didn't think, only knocked the syringe from Anderson's hand and turned away from them all, placing her hand on Lewis's head.

"Shh, shh… it's alright, Lewis…." She used one arm to untie the elastic band from his elbow and the other to hold him steady as she tried to calm him. 'No needles. No needles, I promise."

Anderson gave her a look, and she turned to him and swore. "You idiot. Can't you see he's been through enough for one day?"

Anderson shook his head. 'It's procedure…."

'If it were according to procedure I wouldn't be in this room right now." She replied sharply.

She turned back to Lewis, voice turning soft once again.

"Look, I at least need to get a blood sample, just a little prick, alright?'

She turned to Lestrade, who nodded and got out some test strips.

"Just a little cut." She took the tip of her knife and gently pressed it onto Lewis's little finger, placing the dot of blood on the test sheet.

"See, no needles. That was better, wasn't it?'

Lewis nodded and blinked, while she put on the band aid.

"It's getting late. He should be on the cot." Lestrade said quietly.

Lewis turned to her. "don't leave me. Please, don't." he whispered.

She knew she couldn't stay, though she wanted to. He looked so lost….

""I'll come back in the morning. I promise." She whispered.

Lewis shook his head. "That's what mummy said." He spoke quietly.

"I pinky promise. Did your mummy pinky promise?"

Lewis shook his head. "no…."

"then you know I'll be back. Be good." She locked her pinky with his before turning to Sherlock and leaving with him.


	56. The Fallen

A man with greasy brown hair looked up as a package that had been passed down his line of contacts arrived on his table, in another run down, old flat.

He opened it and read the written letter, then smiled and stood.

"Tell everyone we have it." He said, turning to the small blonde, almost white haired girl on his left. "If the Holmes get hurt."

She nodded and hurried to obey, running past the bound and gagged figure of a woman, lying helpless with her bleeding head on the table.

The man smiled and turned. Everyone would be here soon. And the game would be on.

"If one of the Holmes's can be hurt, we have him behind us. 500 grand, and his men to cover our tracks. Then we'll have a chance at winning." He announced to his followers. Mostly men, but the women stood out with their rich brown hair. Every now and then, there was an oddball who looked out of place in the crowd of different looking people, but they were all devoted.

"I want you to go for Sherlock, that fellow. He might already be trying to stop us, actually."

Kranski, one of his right hand men, stepped forward.

"Wouldn't it be easier to take out the girl?"

He shook his head. "No. she's fought off trained assassins, Holmes is always watching out for her. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he loved the kid."

He smiled, which was more of a sneer. "Anyhow, he's always watching out for the girl. But he leaves himself venerable while he does. I know when he goes out, I've got his routine down to a science. I want two men watching him every time. I want you to hurt him badly. Then the girl is exposed, without him. And then we can get her, as well. Congratulations. We're one step closer to the cause."

They all closed their eyes and seemed to withdraw for a moment, a tell-tale sign of their devotion, before the started moving again, rushing, to get things read.

"Where's your husband?" he asked the woman. Tears rolled down her bruised face, and she simply shook her head. The man laughed and called the little girl to him, placing his arm around her.

He pointed. "that, Kaly, is the face of weakness." He announced before turning and walking away,. Leaving her still crying and alone, wondering what was going to happen next in the torture chronicle she called her life.

Sherlock turned the corner, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. It was almost the first day of fall, It was getting colder. Not that he noticed, only noticed his neck was cold and moved to put his scarf on more. His mind was really occupied with thoughts of the gang….

So many criminal activities. There was one man he knew who might be able to help him….

Something bit into his shoulder and he whirled, finding two men with knives near him. They each had a certain gleam in their eyes that made him uneasy...

He slammed one into the wall before instinctively elbowing the other, probably breaking a rib, and knocking him unconscious, as well.

He instinctively looked around for Anna, trying to see if she was safe, but remembered he'd left her back at the flat.

He texted Lestrade the location and moved on, back towards 221 B, his first and most ultimate purpose to find the man forgotten.

He texted as he walked.

**John, you there?**

**-SH**

John read the text and replied.

**Yeah, why?**

**-John**

Sherlock tried to think. He didn't want john to think anything was off, so he simply texted back something he normally did.

**I need a pen. Blue, not black.**

**-SH**

Five minutes later, he was back in the flat, finding john there.

"Here's your pen." John tossed it to him, and he nodded not taking off his coat to hide the cut.

"This is black, not blue." He muttered, tossing it back to him and continuing down the hall. He peered into Anna's room to see she had her ear buds in and was sitting on the bed. So she was alright, as well.

That sparked something uneasy within him as he slipped into his room. Normally she was always a target- no. He was glad it had happened to him, and not her, but still, if they were going for him, maybe it was all a cover up so they'd be able to get to her….

He slipped off his coat and looked at his shoulder in disgust.

Blood was streaming down and had soaked the sleeve of is shirt.

He pulled that off and pulled on a T-shirt, before mopping at it with some paper towels. It was deeper than expected….

He'd have to get stitches. He had a needle under the bed for times like this, though, and went to thread it only to find his hands were shaking too much to do so.

He swore quietly. The pain didn't faze him, didn't make him panic, it was just pain. But when his body refused to cooperate and do something like stop shaking….

"need some help?" the whisper surprised him, and he would have jumped if he were normal. But he wasn't. he looked up from where he'd been sitting on the side of his bed.

He saw Anna standing in front of him, now, syringe in her hand.

"No. I'm fine." He was slightly unnerved that she'd been able to slip inside without him noticing, ad realize he'd been in pain, no less.

"You need it." She said, giving a once over of the needle he was struggling to thread.

"how could you tell, anyways?" he asked, watching her now.

She had no way of hearing him enter, her music had been up too loud, he hadn't even stepped into the doorway….

Suddenly the needle was under his skin, and something icy seemed to enter him.

"Pain killer. I remember John dosing me with it that one time, stole it from his room."

Sherlock nodded, and she proceeded to easily thread the needle and sat on her knees on the bed beside him, starting to stitch his now pleasantly numb upper arm.

"So, how did you know?" he asked.

She continued stitching with nimble fingers as she spoke.

"It was easy, really- I smelled the blood. I used to do it all the time in the dales. And then, the fact that you left your coat on was different, and that you went immediately into your room. You normally mutter under your breath abut some idiot you've encountered."

He chuckled slightly, and she did another stitch, tying it off.

"You better take proper care of this." She said, giving him a look. "Or else."

"Or else what?" he was intrigued, now, wondering how she'd be able to threaten him.

"or else I tell john, and he fusses over you." She said, turning back to his shoulder and finishing the last stitch. They both knew that wasn't necessary.

"Who did this to you, anyways?" she asked, finishing off with antiseptic and taping on a bandage.

"I didn't stay to find out." He replied, sitting back.

She nodded. "Change the bandage tomorrow morning, or I tell John. Just yell for a pen if you need anything."

She nodded and sat back, and she slipped out of his room and no doubt back to her own. She was a useful person to have around, at least, smart.

She'd memorized the procedure to stitching a wound when she'd been seven, if he remembered correctly, Mary had told him in a letter….

Still, this did nothing to answer his questions, and he turned and entered his mind palace, shutting out everything else and trying to figure it out.

"We need Anna here." Lestrade said quietly into his mobile.

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "What for?" he wasn't used to people asking for her instead of him.

"Lewis. Something happened to him. She'd the only one he talked to before…."

Sherlock nodded and called her. As soon as she heard, she raced out the door, towards the station, not even bothering to pull on a jacket. He knew she was worried, and grabbed her coat, as well as his own, starting out behind her.

John was at work, today.

She didn't bother to ask where he was. She could tell by the worried looks on everyone's faces as soon as she entered the yard office.

"Lewis! She burst into the room and found him sitting on the windowsill, staring out at London, curled into a terrified ball.

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close to her, and he started to cry… no, sob, into her chest, muttering words around the tears.

"What did he say?" Anderson asked.

She had eyes only for Lewis, though. "I will not let him. You know I'd never let him."

Lewis shook his head, tears still falling, as he continued to wail words that were indistinguishable for everyone except her.

Finally, she calmed him until he cried himself out, and he drifted off to sleep.

"What did he say?" Lestrade asked hesitantly.

She sighed. "he said his dad was coming for him he saw him in the window."

Lestrade stared. "We don't have anything on the cameras."

"no, of course not…. The gang war. I need more information on it if you ever want me to get anything done here."

Sherlock had entered and set her coat on the chair, knowing she'd see it and realize. He heard her speaking to Lestrade, now, heard him ask why.

"Because it's all connected somehow." Sherlock said

"When's the war supposed to happen, anyways? Isn't there something that was left in a message?'

Lestrade nodded.

"how bloody poetic." Anna said bitterly,. Turning back to George.

"Anyhow, figure out who his father is. The social services is tracking them, right?"

Lestrade nodded, and she sighed.

"Something's going to happen soon. When was the note left?"

"Last week. This is getting us nowhere, Anna."

Anna shrugged. "You have a better idea? I'm not all knowing- I'm just a heck of a lot smarter than you lot."

Sherlock stepped forward. It was clear Anna was a bit outmatched, here.

"Lestrade. Are you keeping something form us?"

Lestrade shook his head, frustrated. "No! I've shown you all I've got. I swear!"

"Where did you see the gang members last?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know- west Harlan street, maybe? Look, if you're not going to tell me anything, you might as well go."

"Keep him safe. I told you, his father's coming. If he gets hurt, I will personally get answers out of all of you." Anna said, setting Lewis down on a small cot before slipping out after Sherlock.

She turned and left, slipping a different way towards home. She needed to see something, first.

West Harlan street- she remembered it well, from her first case with Sherlock. It had been down near the old drunken Flame tattoo parlor. What it reminded her most of was the graffiti. Graffiti, surprisingly, was the answer, sometimes.

It was getting late, and a cold wind seemed to whip at her, even with her coat on. Sherlock wouldn't miss her- she hoped, at least.

She turned down an alley to what she'd nicknamed the jungle in her mind palace.

She'd done it more out of impulse than reason, she supposed, but here it was gritty and filled with those who were desperate.

Besides, with so much graffiti on the walls, such bright colors and murals, it seemed like a bright jungle painted on brick walls.

Still, though, she wondered what was on here that they might have painted….

Most causes tried to get out their message in graffiti, she'd learned in the past. They never expected they'd find it. But they didn't know her.

She looked around, staring at a phrase written over a cloud of yellow paint in spidery handwriting.

_The fire burns down_

_To all that remains_

_Ash_

Something about it struck her as odd. There were other crude phrases and words on the walls, as well, but none stood out like this.

She started farther down the alley and found another phrase, written in the same handwriting.

_They think that they've won_

_But the war isn't done_

_Ha_

She was getting an even eerier feeling, now, and she continued on, not knowing what else to do.

She found the last message in a background of pure red pain, written in black again.

_How they'll weep_

_When we strike back again_

_Let them sob and cry _

_Oh_

She stared at it for a moment, then stepped forward. She ran her hand over the words on the brick, and a cold wind whipped around her once again.

"Are you one of the fallen?" she asked.

She turned to face the girl. She looked like a ghost, almost. She couldn't be more than seven, but she stood confidently here, in the cold, without a coat.

She didn't answer, only tried to figure out her meaning.

"Are you one of the fallen?" the girl asked again.

She still stared at her, and suddenly the recognition sparked in the girl's eyes. Fear seemed to be the thing that motivated her the most, and she turned to run.

Anna instinctively reached out and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her back. She went to scream, but she covered her mouth.

"Shh. I'm not going to hurt you."

She looked at the girl's pale blue shirt and worn jeans. She looked as though she must be freezing.

"Here" she kept one hand on the girl's mouth and wrapped back around her shoulder as she wrapped her in her coat.

The girl still trembled, though, with fear.

"What's the fallen?" she asked quietly.

The girl said nothing, only stared straight ahead.

"where's your family?"

The girl still said nothing.

"I have people. They can hurt you." The girl whispered.

"you don't really want that." She said, seeing the hesitance and fear in the girl's eyes.

Her wispy white hair blew around her, and slowly, she let her go. The girl broke into a run instantly, rounded the corner in her coat and disappearing, leaving her to stare after her in the cold and wonder.

The girl finally caught her breath and sat down in her corner of the grubby flat, pulling the coat tighter around her. It was too big for her, but it was _warm_, her old coat had worn out and she hadn't had a new one since then. The girl, as well- she was a demon. She'd been told that, over and over again.

But demons hurt people, possessed them. this girl had only given her the coat. For once she was warm. No, she wasn't one of the fallen, but she definitely wasn't a demon. But what was she, then? She found herself too hungry and exhausted to consider it anymore. With everyone being so buy, father had forgotten to bring dinner around. But that was because the storm was coming. Still, Anna Holmes wasn't a demon- and so she wouldn't bear false witness. Since good people didn't. At least, she hoped.

Her eyelids grew heavy as she started drifting towards sleep, but a million questions still infested her mind, even after sleep had taken her.

She returned to the flat for the night, finding at three am she couldn't; stand to stay in bed any longer.

The girl was strange- strange people had things to do with cases, a lot of things to do with cases.

She didn't have her coat, but she grabbed a bag of chips from the kitchen and slipped outside anyways, and, against her better judgment, slipped back out to the ghetto.

She found the girl standing there again, still looking thin but less pale in her coat.

"hello." She said quietly.

The girl hesitated and nodded to her.

"hungry? You look like you haven't eaten in ages."

The girl took another hesitant step forward, and she sat down, back against the wall, and offered her the chips.

The girl eagerly sat beside her and started to eat.

She didn't have any crisps herself- the girl was too hungry, it seemed, almost starved, and she couldn't bear to eat in the face of starvation. Besides, the girl needed all she could get.

"So, where's your family?" she asked.

"At the flat."

"And what flat would that be?'

The girl didn't say anything more, and she let it lie.

"What's your name?"

The girl blinked. "Kaly."

She nodded, trying to evaluate her. It was painful, really. she could deduce the girl's life, see it all in the hollow cheeks and wide green eyes. She was intriguing, but she'd have gladly given up the mystery of it all to be staring at a chubby, smiling girl with rosy cheeks instead of the skeletal form she saw now.

"You're Anna Holmes, if I'm right?"

She nodded.

"I'm not supposed to talk to you." The girl said simply, looking at her with her green eyes almost asking her to respond.

"Then why are you?" she asked quietly.

The girl shrugged. "Because they're not a demon."

She nodded, trying to figure it out.

"Are you alright?"

The girl almost instinctively covered up a bruise on her knee.

"Yes, fine. I… I have to go home now…."

"Come back around five, Kaly, and I'll bring more food if you like."

Kaly nodded before scrambling back into another ally and disappearing from sight. She wasn't sure if the girl wanted her help or not. She seemed happy as she was, but she couldn't be sure. She might have wanted help, but she might have not….

It was so hard to tell, and she decided to ask her at dinner.

Kaly slipped into the room to find the blonde woman, the face of weakness, her father had told her.

She looked ill, her face was still bleeding….

She found a glass that wasn't too cloudy in the sink and filled it with water, talking the gag from the woman's mouth and holding up the glass.

Her eyes opened wide in surprise, and she choked on it and broke into a smile.

"Thank you." She croaked, reaching out a grubby hand to touch her cheek.

"Kaly Amelia…."

Suddenly she pulled back, afraid. "How do you know my middle name!?" she demanded, voice shaking.

The woman smiled. "Because I'm your mother."

"Kaly!" she was hit so hard she fell back, slamming into the wall and feeling her nose start to bleed.

"How could you!?" he demanded.

"you were supposed to be looking for the others. Have you found any of the fallen?"

Just then, she recognized Taylor, a teenager who'd been taken under her father's wing, enter.

"She's been speaking with the demon." She said quietly.

"Kaly!" she was dealt another blow a hard blow.

"Have you forgotten your roots!?" he demanded.

She let the tears fall down, but her father shook his head, disgusted. He slapped her and whirled to face her mother.

"You filthy liar! You've done this to her! You took my son!"

"He didn't want to go with you!" the woman said, eyes wide with defiance.

The group had gathered now to watch the fight go down.

The man clenched his fist and felt his blood boil. "This war starts now." he said coldly.

"I don't care if it's daylight- we fight now."

Everyone nodded, readying pistols and clips. They'd been planning this for years.

"When is the Demon coming?" he said, lifting Kaly's face to stare at him.

"She's not. She's not coming every again." She said through her tears.

"Lies! She gave you this coat, she spoke to you, she's tainted you!"

He threw her back against the wall.

"Kaly, you will tell me if you still have one bit of sanity within you."

"I… I don't want to be your daughter anymore!" she cried, as another blow came, and another.

The man turned. "Move out. I'll have her tell me, one way or another."

Taylor stepped forward, eyes pitiful. "The demon is coming back at dinner for her."

The man nodded and turned back to Kaly.

"Fine. I want six of you waiting for her, then. Kaly, you come with me. Hari, you stay with her" he said, motioning to the prostitute who was still tied up.

Before she could resist, Kaly's father was dragging her down the stairs and outside, through the alleys she'd grown up in, past the places in town, everywhere, into a hole that she seemed to be falling deeper and deeper into. And if felt like she wouldn't get out.


	57. Let's Have a Tea Party!

"No one's come, yet. He must have lied." Lestrade said.

They found themselves again at the Yard office, with Lewis sleeping peacefully. His father hadn't shown up, yet.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, it doesn't seem like it, there's something we're missing…."

Anna looked out the window. She felt like she was missing something.

Suddenly she jumped to her feet.

"Hashoah!"

Everyone stared except for Sherlock. It instantly clicked in his mind.

She'd read the last lines that had seemed out of place in the graffiti poems over and over, mixed and remixed the letters to find… Hashoah. Which was how the Jewish people pronounced holocaust.

It was October first, between Jewish holidays, and it all made sense suddenly….

"Lewis! Lewis!" she shook his awake gently and he blinked sleepily.

"_Yit'gadal v'yit'kadash sh'mei raba." _She said quietly. It wasn't perfect Hebrew, but it was how it was pronounced. Lewis's eyes widened. It was part of the Kiddush prayer of Mourning.

"Daddy used to say that! All the time, he looked so angry…."

She shot Sherlock a look, and he nodded. "Jewish. He's definitely Jewish."

Anderson stared. "And now you're prejudice."

"I'm not. It all makes sense, now…. The dead bodies were of Germans…. "

Anna turned to Lewis again. "Lewis, were there people with your father?"

Lewis nodded. "yes! All angry people! All the time…." He trailed off, and Anna turned to Sherlock. They both knew it already.

"Holocaust revenge."

"Where's it starting?"

Sherlock shrugged and turned, running out of the room, everyone else close on his tail. She stayed, though, to be with Lewis. Something was uneasy, within her, though.

"Lewis, do you know another girl like you?"

Lewis nodded. "Kaly, her name is. She's my sister."

She stared. It all made sense, now, made so much sense….

Everyone else was gone. Which left her one choice. Either take Lewis with her and risk him, leave him here and wonder where his father was, or stay with him and leave Kaly to her fate. She had to choose between two children, now.

It'd grown far past dark, and suddenly she saw a figure at the window, staring in from outside.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion from there. A Hatchet shattered the glass, the picture window falling like rain onto the pavement.

Lewis was frozen stiff with fear, and then there was a hand on her, dragging her through the remaining shards and onto the street.

"Run! Lewis, run!" she screamed, but he was still frozen, and then a hand was clamped onto him as well, and they were marched down the street. She saw the complete and utter silence of it all, and realized it'd all been arranged. Half of her screamed to fight, but she knew she couldn't leave Lewis here or risk him getting shot. So she allowed the painful grip on her wrist to continue and let herself be led down the street. Kaly. She needed to find the girl, but she had no idea how. And everything was now falling to pieces like the window glass….

She couldn't remember the turns, only saw the fear in Lewis's eyes and tried to reassure him with her own steady look of assurance.

"What do you mean, holocaust survivors?" Lestrade demanded.

"The gang. It's made up of Jews seeking revenge after the Holocaust."

Lestrade stared. "How come we had no idea of the purpose earlier?"

"Because you're idiots."

He was already turning. He knew an alley where most gang members met, a key location that led to a main sewer access point they might use as an entrance.

He was betting he was right, hoping, at least.

He was so caught up in it all he hardly noticed when his mobile dinged.

**We have her.**

Was all it said, and there was no return address. His heart skipped a beat.

A moment later another text popped up.

**I'll be fine. You need to stop them. **

**-A**

That was all she'd managed to type.

He swallowed and knew lives were at stake here, and he had to go on whether he liked it of not.

No one had noticed him stopping for a minute, and he turned to see a line of people holding green glow sticks as they waited to enter. They were all silent, there were far too many to take, they were armed. He stared for a moment, finding no one, and Lestrade looked lost.

"What do we do?" whispered Donovan.

John, too, looked at a loss. He felt even more conflicted, since any action he took could mean Anna's life or death.

"Call for backup." He whispered.

Lestrade nodded, but he wasn't sure if even that would be enough to save them. He hoped it was, at least. But it seemed hopeless, now, as one by one, the groups removed there hand guns and descended into the depths of the city.

She was a bit surprised to see that they'd descended into the sewers, but it made a logical hide out.

They would b taking her to one of the maintenance stations, probably, now.

She'd managed to text Sherlock, but this seemed hopeless. She'd figured it out too late- so many might die because of her.

Her heart sank further now, and she wondered if she'd die, as well. She deserved it- she'd failed London, failed everyone- even though she didn't know them, her failure would mean there death.

The man dragged them forward now, and they'd reached the station. There was a small concrete room centered around the walkways, some generators for the pumps, some tools in a box, and… Kaly.

She stared at the girl and the woman she recognized asw the prostitute now beside one another, tied and gagged, looking scared.

The man smiled. He was ready, now. He bound Lewis to the pole first, then Anna, and grinned at them all with a special malice. A sacrifice, like Moses ordered be done. You go first. The other wretches next."

He turned to leave, and as soon as the heavy metal door closed behind him, she noticed the times on the pole they were tied to. It was a bomb. The generator tyo the left- the explosion would blow them all into oblivion.

But she was hardly concerned with that now, more bothered by the fact Kaly and the prostitute, as well as Lewis, were here with her.

She had her knife and groped for it in her boot and came up, cutting Lewis's bonds first and then the rest of them, including hers.

"Can you defuse it?" the prostitute asked, eyes wide with fear.

She shook her head. "I have to get you out of here before I try."

The door was locked, and she started picking it. Stupid government issue locks. Why had Mycroft made the government buy such good ones?

It would take her a few minutes, and according to the timer, she had three. But panic would only hurt her more, so she turned off the switch to thinking for a few moments, trying to think.

"Who are they going to kill?" Lestrade asked, staring.

"Those related to German Nazis in the war." Sherlock said, standing. They'd all disappeared into the sewers now, were going to find there targets, he had no doubt.

Something still nagged at him.

"Where are you?" he'd set the trace on her hone, but it was taking a frustratingly long time.

He texted Mycroft in a desperate effort to save those he could, but ti would probably be too late. Still, Anna- something was going on, he had a feeling of foreboding in the pit of his stomach.

"they're something else."

"What?" john asked, face creased with worry.

"They have Anna, they're doing something, planning something….."

**Clear area around manhole on East Biney avenue. Bomb in manhole. Send ****_no _****one in. **

**-AH**

He turned to Lestrade, speaking in a rush. Who knew how long they had now?

"Lestrade, east Biney avenue. Evacuate it, now."

**Bomb going off in two minutes. Running out of time**

**-ah**

He knew the typos were from her hurry, which worried him even more.

The yard would be tested now, to see if they could evacuate the people by then.

She finished texting, knowing the people around in flats, asleep, might get blown up, as well. She managed to open the door, leading them down the small cement walkway, up to the ladder.

Sherlock realized how close they were to the road and raced there. Squads were already setting up a perimeter, but his heart was beating fast against his rib cage, trying to escape, it seemed.

She found the old ladder and the manhole.

"go."

Kaly raced up first, lifting up the manhole and bursting out into the night.

"Run."

Lewis followed.

The prostitute, the mother, scrambled up last.

"Aren't you coming?" she asked.

She shook her head. "People around here- I have to try to defuse it."

The woman looked shocked, but she shook her head.

"GO!" she yelled, racing back towards the room.

The clock was ticking down, now, one minute, thirty nine seconds. She found the box of tools. If she did anything wrong, it would detonate. Meaning she had to take her time. She didn't have time to take now.

She started working frantically, heart racing. She wondered why she was even doing this, and remembered the places around the manhole, that could get blown away, as well. She had no idea how powerful the bomb really was.

The power supply- it was rigged up too well. She had no idea if it needed all these car batteries hooked up or one, and if she cut the wrong one the others would detonate it.

Forty seconds. Her hands were shaking, she had pliers…. If she could mess with the transmission of the signals to the receiving detonator, she might be able to stop it.

She tried, but it was encased in a metal case, with a lock, which she had to pick. She managed to do it in twenty seconds. Twenty seconds left.

She tore open the case, finding a note.

**Surprised you got this far. Shame, you won't live to tell the tale.**

It read. She swore in frustration. Fifteen seconds. She couldn't do it. They were right on top of another manhole, she turned and ran out of the room.

There was filthy water running to her right, manhole ladder to her left….

She didn't have time to be choosy. She chose the water and dove under, closing her eyes and hearing the boom rattle her teeth. Pieces of metal came and landed in the water, and she waited until she felt her lungs would burst and finally surfaced.

She gasped for air, dragging herself onto the chipped and charred concrete.

She had to find Sherlock, make sure everyone had gotten out….

They had. She knew it, he wouldn't have let her down.

She scrambled up the ladder, finding herself surrounded by a thick smoke. She composed herself, shaking her wet head and smoothing her wet clothes. Sherlock. He was here somewhere. She just had to find her way through the smoke.

"Where is she?" Sherlock demanded, as soon as he saw the prostitute.

She was sobbing, herding her two children outside the perimeter, where cops waited anxiously.

"She… she went back to defuse it…. I couldn't stop her…." The woman sobbed, now, and Sherlock held his breath, putting on his mask. She was playing with fire now, literally.

He turned to break the barricade and get her.

"You can't." he felt Lestrade holding him back. "I'm sorry."

He tried to brush him off, but he saw John, biting his lip and holding him back as well.

"John…."

"I can't elt you, I'm sorry." John said, agreeing.

"Anna! Anna, get out of there, now! Anna!" and then everything exploded, sparks and flame flying up through the manhole, and everything caving in on itself.

Before the dust had settled, he saw what looked like a shadow approaching.

He knew the figure anywhere though.

He felt his heart slow and his knees go weak from relief, watching the shadow approach him slowly.

It took his breath away, both the relief and the fact that she'd been able to escape it all unscathed.

"Sherlock?" and suddenly she was beside him.

He snapped out of it and nodded, falling into step beside her, for once, as she trotted towards the yard office. He couldn't sort out his feelings now, but he would soon, after the fact, and he'd speak to her. Right now, he was content to stare at her, living, and relax.

"They're out to murder the descendants to Nazis." Anna said.

"Now, no one came down our tunnel, since they'd planted the bomb there, and so they're still on the move, most likely."

She turned to Sherlock. "did you text Mycroft?"

"Yes, five minutes ago."

"Are you serious? His guards aren't here by now!? Where's the British government when you need him!?"

He had to smile at that. "My thoughts exactly."

"So, what do we do?" Lestrade asked.

Anna shrugged. "I have no idea. I'm a child, you're an adult, well, physically, at least, not mentally, but you're supposed to handle these situations."

"Anna, be serious."

"We need to protect the Germans." John said.

Anna threw her hands in the air. "Bloody heck! Just round up all the Germans and have a tea party or whatever!"

"not a bad idea, actually." John muttered.

Lestrade stared. "Are you serious?"

"You got a better idea?" John asked.

For once, he was taking as stand in the girl's favor in front of her. She was, after all, pretty smart.

"Where will we get the tea?" Anna, asked, looking surprised.

"No, not tea….." John slapped his forehead, realizing she wasn't expecting to be taken seriously.

"Round up the Germans, try and protect them, at least, try and find the targets…."

Just then another bomb exploded a block away, sparks flying and smoke rising.

"Found it." Anna said, and turned to run towards it.

Sherlock raced after her, John trailing ad wondering if these two ever feared anything.

By the time she'd arrived both a man and a woman were outside on the grass, coughing and spitting.

They'd been smoked out, she realized. One had a German look to him. She recognized him, some parliament representative, and he was married. So this was his mistress, then.

"Are you alight?" she asked.

The man nodded, soot covered face looking a bit dazed.

"yes… smoke bomb…."

She nodded, knowing this meant that the gang was around. Meaning she'd probably stepped into the line of fire.

Her gun was gone, she had her knife, miraculously- she wondered how it always managed to stay with her.

But anyways, the gang would be here soon, and the smoke seemed to move in and conceal everything….

Just then John and Sherlock staggered through.

"Anna?"

"Sh. They're around." Anna said quietly.

The man blinked and stared.

"What do you mean?" the man asked stupidly, looking around.

"I mean a gang has reason to want you dead." She said simply.

Sherlock saw it all before she could- she was too busy focusing on the situation to see it nall plainly laid out.

"Anna, go with John. Get out of here."

Anna looked shocked. "No. We've made it this far, Sherlock, I won't leave you."

"Anna, as long as one of us stays and Scotland yard is here, they'll be fine."

Something in his look made her believe him, but he knew that she was still clueless. She could zero in on one thing and be so blind, sometimes.

"John, take her back to Lestrade. Go, both of you."

John looked unsure, but Anna nodded and started, trusting him enough not to cast a glance over her shoulder.

The mistress pushed a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear, blood red nails showing, and smiled.

He saw the pistol in her hand before anyone else did.

Besides, he'd sent them both away for a reason. The smoke bomb had been for cover. His mistress was in on everything, it was to scare the police into thinking the gang had smoked them out and was closing in. They'd keep a perimeter, not knowing she was there, and she'd kill him and escapes somehow.

While he was here, however, John and Anna were out of danger, and he could face the mistress easily.

"Melanie!" the man yelled, but he'd already knocked the gun from her hands. She looked at him, blue eyes wide with surprise, and pulled a knife.

The smoke was still thick, but he understood it was either he took her down or she'd killed both him and the man.

Anna heard the scream and whirled, turning and staring at the sound, heart in her throat.

They'd emerged from the perpetual some cloud, now, and Lestrade caught her arm.

"Anna, no." he said.

Her mind was already filled with situations though, Sherlock being murdered by gang members, so many things happening, him burning, falling, dying, like her parents had died….

"Sherlock!" the scream was torn from her throat, and she struggled against Lestrade's grasp as he tried desperately to hold her. He was surprised at her strength and fear.

"Sherlock!" it was so desperate it broke John's heart, but he knew he couldn't let her go back into the cloud.

"Anna! Anna, listen to me!" Lestrade yelled, but she was deaf to everyone, to every purpose, except for getting to Sherlock.

A gun went off, she screamed his name again.

Donovan watched the struggle, surprised the little freak could love her uncle that much.

"Anna." John pinned her arms against the wall, kneeling and keeping her legs still with his hip.

"Anna. Look at me. Everything is fine."

Slowly, the blind fear in her eyes turned to a slow calm, until the explosion sounded.

Then she lost it, screaming his name again, fighting tooth and nail to try and get back to Sherlock.

"We have to get her out of here." Lestrade said, looking worriedly in the direction of the explosion.

"Go with the rest of the team. They'll escort you to the office."

John nodded, looking down at Anna. "He'll come back. He wouldn't leave you." He said, though he hardly felt confident.

It was as if everything that characterized her was gone, suddenly. Her eyes were dull, had lost their green sparkle of inquisitive nature he'd known. The scars behind them shown, the loss and pain she'd lived through. He saw the tears filling them no one else could see, saw she was about to really loose it.

Suddenly she turned and broke away from him, running into an alley and disappearing. He had no idea why, but eh suspected she wanted to be alone. Unfortunately, during the middle of a gang attack wasn't the best time for her to be alone.


	58. Don't Shoot

"Can we find her?" Donovan asked, a bit of worry showing through her eyes.

"No. She knows the allies better than anyone." John said, running a nervous hand through his hair.

He grabbed his gun from the hood of a squad car and started after her.

"I thought you said it was pointless!" Donovan called after him.

"it is! But I don't care." He said, jogging into the alley after her. The chances he'd succeed were minimal, but he'd still try. That was one thing he'd learned from watching this girl fight. You always had to try.

She'd run away for two reasons, really. She couldn't stand to be there anymore, since she was afraid she'd cry. She cried too much, it seemed- Sherlock never cried, but she was dumb and had to cry every now and then. And there was no way she was going to cry like a little girl in front of Donovan and Lestrade. John- he was iffy, as well, but she might cry around john someday. But not tonight.

And she'd wanted to try and finish this, find the man, whoever he was, and his gang, for making her freak out like this.

A tear spilled over her cheek, but she brushed it away and moved on. She wouldn't give up. She'd end this, now, and then Louusad, until every heart break in her life had been fixed…..

She heard a noise above her and stopped. It seemed to be an old store, and she opened the unlocked door and darted inside. Someone could be here.

She needed a high vantage point, anyways, if she was going to be able to hunt these jerks. She climbed up the still escalators and onto the top floor, then up onto the roof through the employee's only door.

She stared down the three stories. She could still see the fading smoke, see the city around her. She was ready.

It was almost like she was part of the sky, but she was a demon, a hunter, she would fight until the death to end this.

John had spent ten minutes scouring the allies when he saw the dark figure dark into a door. It was far too big to be Anna, but it didn't have the right build to be Sherlock. But he had a sinking feeling it was one of the gang members.

His soldier reflexes turned on, his senses heightened, everything came rushing back. And one name crossed his mind. Anna. They could have her. He slipped in after them and followed them up onto the roof.

There were crates up there as well, probably holing something like clothes they'd moved up there.

John saw the figure standing, staring down, smiling, white teeth showing in the darkness.

He held a pistol at his side.

As soon as John stepped out onto the threshold the man whirled, eyes narrowed, gun pointed.

"don't move." The man said in a b hissing whispered. His gun was already out, but he had to gauge danger, now. If he shot, would the man shoot as well?

He was next to the crates…. They both stood, staring at one another for a moment.

Then, a flash of a shadow, and John fired four times as the man fell over the edge of the building, falling to the ground.

And then he heard the screaming form the shadow, the pure terror in the voice as the shadow laid on the ground, over the noise of his shots.

"John! John!" and then he realized she shadow was Anna.

She'd dove behind the crates when she heard the footsteps on the stairs, and she stared at scene before her. Her heart was in her throat, her mind was racing. There were three feet between the crates and the edge fo the building she was behind, now.

The man, remarkably, hadn't noticed her. And now John was here.

She knew she had to move fast and be exact, or john would die.

She'd hip checked the man's legs, sending him over the edge of the building, but she hadn't expected John to fire on her.

She screamed his name as she huddled on the ground, fear welling up her as bullets from her _friend _whizzed past her.

John suddenly felt the terror wash over him as he realized what he'd done. His gun fell to the ground with a clatter and he raced over to her.

"Anna! Oh my gosh, Anna, talk to me, please talk to me…."

He grabbed her form where she'd been lying, checking for wounds and bullet holes and blood….

"are you alright? Please, tell me you're alright." He pleaded.

She nodded, but she looked pale, as though she'd pass out.

"You're shaking." He commented, staring at her small form he'd almost mutilated moments before.

"Yeah…."

They were both on the ground, he realized, him holding her upper arms, her staring and shaking slightly.

"you can let go now." She said shakily.

John nodded, some sense coming back to him.

"Yeah…." He let her go and she ended up sprawled on the ground, staring at the sky.

"Alright?" he asked, again nervous.

She nodded. "Just surprised…."

"Holmes are never surprised, I thought." John quipped.

"Yeah. That was before you started shooting at me." She replied.

The remark stung, and she sighed. "Sorry. Just… trying to figure things out, sort of."

John nodded. "Yeah… Sorry, for shooting at you, I mean."

"It was interesting." She said, staring at the sky for a minute.

Suddenly her mobile vibrated. She scrambled for it and in an instant was on her feet, grinning.

"Yes! I hate you!" she yelled, jumping up and down like a child.

"What? John asked, shocked.

"He's alive." Anna grinned, the light back in her eyes.

"I'm going to kill him for scaring me like this, but he's alive. This rocks!"

She sprinted down the stairs, racing past all the builds until she got back tot eh scene.

He'd manage to detain the assassin, Mycroft had gotten his spies to work on the rest of the security issues that were occurring, and he'd heard Anna's screaming for him. As soon as the assassin was handcuffed, he'd texted her.

He had no doubt her emotions were going AWAL right now, and the easiest way to stop that was to text her.

**I'm alive. Where are you?**

**-SH**

He was out of the smoke cloud now, with Lestrade, Mycroft, Anderson and Donovan standing and waiting for any news that might come.

He'd heard the news of gunshots, but he wasn't worried- John was with her, and John would protect her as well.

"Where is she?" Mycroft asked, shifting nervously.

"She'll be here. Give her a minute or two." Sherlock replied.

A moment later eh heard something small pounding down he pavement, and she skidded out of the alley and hugged him.

"I almost got shot!" she said, looking up at him, grinning and breathless. "Best night _ever_!"

Sherlock nodded. "It has been rather interesting." He agreed, amused by the giddy light in her eyes and the way she was staring, so happy it was unbelievable.

"Can we do this again sometime?"

"no!" both john and Mycroft said, as john had just emerged from behind her in the alley.

Sherlock sighed at their hesitance to risk like and limb for a thrill.

"maybe. Crimes don't happen on a schedule, you know."

She nodded.

"Yeah. The only thing that could make this better is-"

She was interrupted by the cocking of a gun.

They al looked up startled, and Sherlock stared. Anna tensed in his arms, and eh saw a greasy haired man staring at them, face bleeding, gun pointed at them.

He let a smile of admiration cross his lips.

"So, you've foiled most of it. Which of you wants do die first?"

Sherlock pushed Anna behind him and stepped forward. They both knew this was the gang leader….

"And you're alive." The man said, licking his bloody lip as he stared at Anan.

"You weren't supposed to get out."

Sherlock had his own gun pulled, now.

"Leave her out of this." He ordered.

The man smiled menacingly. "Gladly. You're the main target, anyways."

"Moriarty." Anna whispered. Sherlock nodded. This man was hired to do this, and Moriarty must have promised him something.

"I'll let the girl get a head start. I have men in the alleys, I'll let her run, see how long it takes for them to hunt her."

"Put the gun down." Almost everyone had a gun drawn except Mycroft and Anna, who had had her gun stolen. The man held it now, pointed at Sherlock.

"No. One person is going to die tonight, either you or your niece. You choose who."

Sherlock nodded . "Alright. Kill me. But leave her." He said, nodding towards Anna.

Suddenly a gun went off and the man fell, gun falling from his hand.

"Game over." Mark stepped out of the waiting darkness, picking up Anna's gun and staring. He hadn't shot him fatally- only enough to disable him.

An ambulance was on standby, and they were already working on him.

"Mark!" Mark instantly put both guns into his holster and enveloped her in a hug as she raced to him.

"You were supposed to be in Afghanistan." She said, smelling his familiar smell and not letting go.

"No, I was in Afghanistan for the first six months, they put me here for another month, before they stationed me here on undercover duty for these guys. Old holocaust hatreds…."

She nodded, nestling her head onto his shoulder. "You missed all the action." She said quietly.

"You can tell me about it tomorrow." Mark assured her, picking her up.

"Hey! Not tired here!" Anna protested, squirming.

Mark shrugged. "They've just got to finish up the paper work here, really. He was lying about the man in the allies. So you'll be bored."

She shrugged and squirmed free of him. "You've told me you're home after, what, seven months, and you're already annoying." She said, but she smiled slightly.

"good. Why don't you come see the flat?"

"You have a flat? What about a girlfriend, have one of those, too?"

Mark punched her playfully in the arm.

"get over here, reckless." He ordered, and called a taxi, nodding to Sherlock before they both slipped into the back seat and were gone.


	59. Back

Mark texted him his address, and Sherlock stopped by to pick her up a few hours later. She was asleep on the couch, the telly was showing an episode of CSI. She'd already seen it, no doubt, so she was sleeping through it.

"I heard she broke her arm." Mark mentioned.

Sherlock nodded. "  
Yes, at boarding school, some psychopath teacher…."

Mark nodded.

Sherlock sighed. "Did you tell her about Louusad?" he asked.

Mark's features fell to one of dismay. "Yes. Why? She jut said she wanted to know the names…."

"He's been hunting her. And she's been trying to kill him."

The color drained from Mark's face.

"Whatever you do, do not let her _near _Louusad, understand? That's another reason they have me undercover in London. It's high up, no one's supposed to know, but Louusad is here, planning something. The gang was another important part, as well, but…."

Sherlock noticed the blood on his nephew's arm and stared.

"What happened?"

Mark quickly straightened his arm so the sleeve fell down and covered it. "Nothing."

"Mark." He said sternly, and rolled up the sleeve to reveal the arm was covered in freshly stitched, bloody cuts. "Who the heck did this to you? And why aren't these bandaged? You're just asking for an infection."

Mark shrugged, and Sherlock wet a cloth and dabbed at them. Mark tried to turn away.

"I don't need you being my mum, Sherlock, I'm a grown man…."

Sherlock looked up and met his gaze. "Please. You're just like your sister. High functioning sociopathic individual with a need for adrenalin rush and thrills, as well as no sense of self preservation and a high pain tolerance."

The surprise showed through Mark's eyes, and he smiled. "And you talk through your eyes, as well. Anna does it as well, but she can cover it up when she wants to."

Mark nodded, trying to think of something to say as Sherlock bandaged his arm.

"She just got you back. Don't do something stupid and get hurt. She'd be lost without you."

Mark shook his head. "She's got you. I'm the background music now."

"No, you're her other half. Not like in love love, that's Zack, but you're her brother, and she reads every single one of your letters at least twice a day after you send it for a week."

Sherlock noticed a small box on the table, from the jewelry store.

"So you've got a girl, then?"

Mark blushed and shook his head. "No, I don't, it's for Anna…."

"We both know she doesn't wear jewelry besides her locket, George's dog tags, and the necklace, Mark. She doesn't even have her ears pierced, and there are earrings in there. Who is she?"

Mark shrugged. "She's not important now. Getting rid of Louusad and keeping Reckless safe is. I haven't talked to her in ages anyways. Besides, Reckless would be jealous. She's first priority, now."

Sherlock cocked his head. "How do you know she'd be jealous if you didn't ask her? You've been undercover in London for a month, you could have written herm, at least. Besides, she worries about you. She wouldn't mind it, I don't; think, as long as she's nice."

Mark shrugged and nodded. His mobile beeped. "I have to get back to base. Debriefing. Can you take her, I don't want her to wake up here, alone."

Sherlock nodded. "Alright. At least think about what I said, Mark. She plays well with others. She wouldn't mind it."

Mark nodded hesitantly as Sherlock picked her up and carried her out the door, hailing a taxi and allowing her to nuzzle closer to him in her sleep as they headed back towards 221 B.


	60. Impressive

Two weeks went by without incident, which she considered to be her sleep time. John often called it rehab, since Sherlock hardly ate or slept whole on a case, and she took after him. But then again, she did sleep for 24 hours straight after a case and then eat like a horse for a few days, so it sort of was rehab.

It was also time for her to do her schoolwork, since she'd convinced Sherlock she could home school herself. That was what she was doing now. She finished her trig problems and tossed the book aside, reading a poem that was about love. Pointless. She already knew how love worked.

It was the secretion of certain chemicals in the brain that triggered a response called love in which people liked to be with one another. That was what she'd come up with when she was seven, anyways.

She felt a pang and picked up her phone to text Zack. Love was so much more than stupid chemicals- it was long nights in the hayfield, sitting on the round bales and watching the world move on around you while you were frozen in time... She had never kissed Zack until that night in February, but she'd felt flutterings of love the October and November before her mum died, moments when she wished he'd take her hand. He was far too bashful to do that without going round and asking Mark or whatever adult male cared for her, it was the old country ways and go round that had held them back...

**I miss you**

**-AH**

She texted. She sighed and waited for a response. She knew it was stupid, it was three am, after all, October fifth, farm life was hectic this time of year in getting ready for winter. But she hoped he'd wake up and text her.

**Me too. Judy keeps going on about Halloween...**

**-ZT **

**I want 2 see u so bad**

**-AH I can tell. U just used text slang so you could tell me that faster.-**

**ZT**

**Sorry, i know u should be sleeping, it's hectic...**

**-AH**

**BTW...-**

**Zt**

**Yes?-**

**AH**

**I luv u. No 1 is every going to be as cool as you. Learn any London slang?**

**-ZT**

She smiled. Just like him to say that.

**Btw, i luv u 2. And Yeah. Homie means like your home dog or your crew or something. It's not home-fries, like the ones your mum makes. I tried to order Homies at a cafe and they looked at me and asked if i was on meds.**

**-AH**

**Bummer. I love homies. The fry kind, i mean. But it's cute, the way u screw that stuff up. Anything else?**

**-ZT**

**Yeah, cray mean crazy here. I heard this girl talking about cray and got all excited and asked where they hunted for those kittle cray fish and they laughed gave me the idiot stare and walked away.**

**-AH**

**I always know what u mean. I'd love you even if you were cray.**

**-ZT**

**You mean cray like crazy or like a cray fish?**

**-AH**

**Either.**

**-ZT**

**Thanks.**

**-AH**

**gotta go. Mobile batteries dying. Srry. :(. Still luv u.**

**-ZT **

**Luv u 2**

**-AH**

She sighed and set down the mobile, turning back to her trig book. It was so boring, really, but eventually she'd get her diploma and then she'd be able to stop. Besides, if she stopped, even though she was technically doing eleventh grade coursework, i she sat back even for a little while and didn't pass ti by christmas Mycroft would be agitated and bother them. She needed a case. She could et through rehab in three days, tops, and then she was bored again. And she was bored again. It was getting colder, the days were getting shorter, she was getting restless.

She'd finished her labs for her class, so now nothing counted towards credit. Her lab practical was next week, anyways, that might be something to do.

Until then, she watched the new CSI and solved the mystery in the first ten minutes- it was good one this time, harder. And then it was back to boredom. She'd have a good time at her lab practical, though- she expected something hard, and she couldn't wait to do it all. John see she'd been awake the entire night and admonish her for it, as well. She'd taken the eighth grade exams last year, and passed the ninth and tenth during her w months at boarding school, since she was ready for e ninth grade exams when Sherlock shipped her off.

* * *

The time came for the exams, and like always, John wished her lucky and Sherlock said he saw no need to since he knew she'd pass.

She slipped outside and strode down the sidewalk to where she'd be taking the practical, down at the center.

She found her lab station all at up, not in the way she organized hr chemicals. Her's were always organized according to atomic weight- there were just small plastic bottles here crudely labeled. She sighed. She'd to talk to Mycroft about the standardized tests and materials here.

A stern looking woman handed out pens and an exam booklet and read the instructions slowly, snapping at her when she started arranging the chemicals like she normally did. She had to wear a name tag, along with the rest of the home-schooled kids or those who'd flunked the test in school and here trying again.

"Ms... Holmes... Is there a problem?" she asked sharply.

At hearing her name, a girl stared."Wait, you mean the Anna Holmes? As in, the niece of Sherlock Holmes?" the teacher snapped at the girl, who quickly sat back down shaking and looked pale.

"Now, Ms. Holmes, is there a problem with your supplies?"

"I..."

"Well, Ms. Holmes? Expect me to make an exception since you're famous?"

"No miss. It's just i arrange my chemicals according to atomic weight, as you can see I've done, not by the colors of the rainbow like they were." she said, biting her tongue to keep more words from flying out. She hated being famous sometimes, it was like a curse...

Snickers arose from the others...

The teacher's face turned red. "Watch your mouth." she ordered, putting the chemicals back into where they'd been.

"I don't believe that's written under the instructions of the test, miss." she teacher was rude, unlike most teachers who were stern but fair to their students back home. They understood how she liked to organize her things.

The teacher's eyes burned more, but she knew she was right and turned back to reading the directions, in a voice an octave higher. Finally, she allowed them to start.

As soon as she did, she organized her chemicals as she normally did, even though the teacher's gaze was hot, burning, almost, as she did so.

She mixed the chemicals to get the small bubbling reaction she was . She wrote the answers she new were expected for average students, and then a bit more, before she was bored again. She still had chemicals left,man an hour in the exam, as well. She was so bored... She forgot she was in a room filled with other students and grinned, finding a realm of unexplored possibilities in the fat beaker in front of her.

A few drops of this, a bit of that...

The stupid teacher had rearranged her chemicals that there were, and then she'd arranged them again after the test started, but she didn't notice she'd forgotten to move one, and reached for a different chemical, grabbing the same sized bottle. Of course it was the wrong one, but she didn't notice.

She only expected he solution to turn the mixture sky blue, but instead, the beaker exploded, glass shards striking her and no one else, thankfully, and the mixture on the ground was exposed to the steam from the experiments, and it ignited.

She felt the glass in her skin burn, the muscles that had just been cut screaming, but she knew better than to take the glass out. Smoke was rising now,she was in a room of other children... She had bigger problems than a few cuts.

And just then, the fire alarm went off. Everyone just stared in shock, unsure of what to do.

What would John do? John told her to use her common sense, like when she ate cat food for the purpose of an experiment or something. Just then, her common sense made her blurt out "Hey, guys, we should probably get out of here. The place is on fire."

And everyone burst out laughing.

The fire was spreading, and they were laughing. In hindsight, ti did sound stupid to say,but John had to, to use common sense...

Everyone still laughed as grinned as they filed outside onto the sidewalk. The fire department was coming, as well, the teacher looked shocked, sirens were screaming. And people slapped her on the back.

"Nice job, kid." a tenth grader said. "Man, i hate exams."

she blushed furiously again and shrugged. "It was an accident, actually,the teacher rearranged the chemicals..."

But she realized this was called fitting in and allowed herself to be slapped on the back and given grins and thumbs up, realizing it was good. Sort of.

One room was on fire, and the fire department was working on it. Someone pointed out the fact ghat she had glass in her arms,and the paramedics tried to work with her, but she refused. John would stitch her, not these people.

A police car showed up, and Lestrade stepped out. He slapped his forehead. "Anna, what did you do?"

She shrugged. "It was an accident, Lestrade, I swear, I didn't mean to..."

Lestrade noticed the glass in her arms, as well as the pleading look of confusion and fear on her face. He sighed. "Let's get you patched up first." "No. Only John fixes me after I do dumb things." she said firmly. Lestrade nodded, knowing she didn't like anyone even near her unless it was Sherlock or John, he called John.

* * *

John found her sitting on the hood of the squad car with Lestrade and talking when he got there.

The center was on fire, actually, just smoking after the fire department had put it out, and the students were being dismissed one by one until a later date...

"Anna, what did you do!?" he demanded, staring at her, furious. "This was an exam, not a minefield! You could get in trouble for arson! Do you have any idea how serious this is!?" He didn't even notice the blood dripping from her arms.

She bit her lip, looking like a beaten dog. "I didn't mean to, John, I had the chemicals all arranged and the teacher came by and messed them up..." John let out his breath in a rush as he saw her bloody arms. "Alright, you know what, why don't you tell me about it as I stitch you up?"

she nodded and allowed John to mop up the blood and disinfect the wounds, before injecting her with a painkiller and starting the stitches.

"So, what did you do?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Nothing. I always arrange my chemicals by atomic weight, and I was doing that when the teacher yelled at me and put them back the way they were, and then when the test started I reorganized them... but I forgot to organize on and I reached for it. I only meant to turn it blue, since I really like the color blue, but then it exploded and ignited..."

She trailed off and bit her lip. John realized how humiliating it had to have been, and he nodded.

"Alright, it was an accident, at least." he said, trying to think of something reassuring to say.

"Quite a large accident."

Anna's head whipped around as she saw Mycroft standing, staring at her.

"i got the call my niece burned down an educational center." he said, eyes still humorless.

"Mycroft, the security cams are intact, and one of your stupid government trained teachers messed up my chemical arrangement so I messed up..."

"And burned down an educational center." Mycroft finished.

"It hasn't burned down! there's, what, one room, maybe, destroyed?"

Mycroft pursed his lips. "That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?" she asked, looking at him. "That you're going have have me thrown in jail because the teacher was an idiot?"

Lestrade snickered and quickly turned away, and Mycroft flushed slightly.

"no. We'll sort this out at the Scotland yard office, after John finishes stitching you up. I'll be calling Sherlock."

She rolled her eyes. "Great. This day just keeps getting better and better." she said, sighing.

John bit his lip and bent further own her arm to hide his smile as he stitched.

* * *

Sherlock arrived after half an hour, where they were sitting at the yard office.

"Yes, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, lookingalightly annoyed. He noticed the stitches on Anna's arms. "I see you've had an interesting day." he muttered, and she offered him an appoligetic smile.

"Yes, thank you for coming so PROMPTLY, Sherlock." Mycroft said, lips pressed together with disapproval.

"Ys, wh did you detain my niece, Mycroft?" he asked gtting down to business.

Mycroft balked. "I did not DETAIN HER."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, an I assume she wants to be here, then?"

"No!" Anna spoke up. "He's being an idiot, Sherlock!"

Sherlock smiled. "No, Anna, he's just being himself."

"Sherlock, she ignited an educational center!"

Sherlock turned to Anna, eyes wide. "Impressive. Intentionally?"

"No! His stupid teacher rearranged my chemicals!"

Sherlock nodded. "Not her fault." he said, nodding to John. "Come on, Anna, I want to show you how blood congeals after death at room temperature..."

And then the were all filing out, leaving Mycroft towonder about their sanity.


	61. The Conflict

**hey guys, i know it's been awhile. I'll update agter i get five more reviews, even if one person reviews five different chapters. Thanks! :)**

* * *

She'd been exploring the alleys like she normally did on nights when she grew restless when she heard it. A pitiful mewling sound, almost like a kitten crying...

It was in the dumpster next to her. But she saw a hand. A human hand. A child's hand.

She quickly brushed off the light layer of snow that had fallen in the november air and grabbed the child, staring. It was a girl, a few years old, completely naked, fingertips and nails turning completely blue...

She didn't think, only went into survival mode, taking the girl and sliding her under her shirt,knowing bare skin contact would warm her the fastest.

She was only a block away from 221 B, and she turned and ran, holding the child's head steady as she did.

John had been pacing the flat like a caged animal, worried sick, almost. He woke up early, and it drove him nearly insane to find Anna had gone exploring. Suddenly she burst in the door, breathless form running, eyes wide.

"Anna? Are you alright?"

"Help. She's dying." she passed the child to John, who stared for a moment, opening his mouth to speak.

"Ask questions later!" she ordered,running to get him blankets as the child still cried pitifully.

John was already calling an ambulance, monitoring vitals as he spoke with the operator...

And then the child was gone, in the wailing ambulance a moment later, leaving them both to nervously enter the flat again.

"Anna, where did you get a baby?" John asked, still in a state of slight shock.

"I found her in a dumpster, half frozen..."

"Ah." John nodded. Sherlock was at the lab with Molly, currently, working on an experiment.

Lestrade entered a moment later, accident report paper poised, wearing the same awkward look.

"Anna, please tell me that wasn't your baby."

"Lestrade, I'm bloody thirteen! Besides, did I look pregnant to you on the last case!? Heck, like I would ever leave a child in a dumpster, if I had one." she muttered, looking away.

"So you found her in the dumpster?" Lestrade said.

She nodded, turning back to look at him. "Yes, in the alley near east fay road. No idea who, I just heard crying..."

Lestrade nodded. "Was there anyone around?"

She shook her head. "No, and even if there was, I wouldn't have given them her. They probably left her there in the first place..."

Lestrade nodded, brows furrowed again. "So you know nothing?"

"Nothing of relevance on this one, Lestrade." she said simply, leaning back.

"Okay, the next time you have a child, call us." Lestrade said simply.

They all looked over to see Sherlock in the doorway, staring, head cocked.

"This is so not what it looks like!" Anna said, sighing. "I do not, and probably never will have, a child."

Sherlock nodded. "So whose child is it?"

Anna shrugged. "No idea. I just pulled her out of the dumpster before she froze to death, and now everyone's thinking I'm a bloody mother. Why does everyone assume it could be my child? Sherlock or John might've had it. Why does everyone assume the girl... Never mind. See, this is why I wanted to be a boy when I was seven, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded, ignoring the comment for now. "Abandonment case, then?"

Lestrade nodded. "Definitely. We'll try a DNA test on her, see what's happening..."

John nodded, "Let s know how it turns out."

"Of course. Have a nice day, you three..."

The door closed and the flat was quiet, except for Sherlock's mobile ringing. He answered it and sighed. "No, Mycroft, she does not have a child." he said, as Anna banged her head on the table repeatedly.

* * *

Two days later, Sherlock got the call from Lestrade The girl in the hospital was fine, but a body had turned up on the banks the Thames, a child.

Sherlock looked into Anna's room. She was waiting, looking excited, ready to go on the case. But he wasn't going to let her come with him on this one. John was at work,but he'd rather go alone.

He remembered Mary at times like these,how even she would've drawn the line at the body of a child...

He hung up and turned to her. "Stay here, It's simple."

The light in her eyes dulled. "Then why are you going?" she asked, interested.

"Because I have to show them what happened, they wouldn't let me explain it over the phone."

"Can I just come to see it, please, see if I can figure it out as well?" she asked hopefully.

He shook his head. "No. A two year old could solve it, I'm telling you. Now stay here."

She sighed and flopped on her bed, disappointed, but he didn't glance behind him as he left. She was better off here, even if he hated to disappoint her.

* * *

He stared down at the body. It looked to be a five year old male. But that was all he could gather, the body was mutilated, the flesh cut and burned in some places, the body was actually decapitated... For once he thought this was repulsive, a disgusting mystery... And it was because of Anna, he knew.

Before, a year before, to be exact, he'd have been fascinated. But ow he thought of what it would be like if it'd been her here, and he swallowed against the tightness in his chest. He would never loose her...

"Quit staring, freak." Anderson snarled, and his thoughts were interrupted.

"Male, age five, missing child, obviously, the man who cut used both his right and left hands... Bled to death before he was decapitated, it looks like, possibly terrorist influence but not likely..."

He turned to Lestrade. "That's it."

"Is it, now?" Donovan asked mockingly.

"Yes, considering you idiots haven't gotten to the DNA testing since you've been too busy here ridiculing me. Have a nice day, Lestrade."

Lestrade nodded, before Sherlock turned and disappeared around the corner.

* * *

"How was it?" Anna asked, looking up eagerly from where she sat on the couch. Sherlock shook his head. "Not even worth retelling." he muttered.

Anna sighed. "Come on, please, I just want to know..."

"I said no, Anna." he snapped, and she nodded, sitting back, not speaking. He sighed. He wished he hadn't been so nasty to her, but every time he saw her he thought if the child, the mutilation. It could've been her...

She stood and started downstairs, sliding on her boots, about to slip out the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked, trying not to sound angry.

She looked up, green eyes wary. "Out."

"No, it's late."

She cocked her head at him, looking interested, now. "But you always let me go out late..."

"Shut up and quit questioning me. Has it ever occurred to you that I'm your guardian?" he said, now genuinely annoyed.

"Has it ever occurred to you I have an inquisitive mind?" she retorted, a spark coming from behind her eyes as she strode back upstairs and flopped onto the couch.

"I don't care, Anna, you're still an incredibly reckless and ignorant child, even if you are a Holmes, I'm surprised you haven't gotten yourself killed by now."

Her hair had fallen into her face, luckily, and so she had time to hide the wounded look that crossed her face. Time. She was always slow to hide things, Sherlock would always see right through her... Sometimes she wished she could win.

"Maybe I'd be better off dead, if I'm that stupid." she said icily, brushing the hair from her face, all the hurt hidden, now.

He scoffed. "Don't go trying to get pity from me. It's not my fault you are the way you are."

That stung. But he was so annoyed he didn't really care. It was a war now, a war of words. She showed no pain, no remorse, no regret. It was a fight to see which words would hit hardest,which words would break the opponent standing before them.

She couldn't cry. Her pride wouldn't allow it, and even if she did cry now and end the fight Sherlock would think she was weak later.

"I'm surprised you haven't gotten yourself killed, Sherlock, running you mouth like that. You might not meet someone as clever as you, but someday you'll tick someone off and they'll blow your brains out."

She stood, sliding on her boots as she went. The pressure in here was too much, it was getting unbearable...

"And where do you think you're going?" he demanded, snatching her coat away before she could get it on, hoping to keep her here.

"Away from you." she nearly spat, turning to go. He grabbed her wrist in an attempt to pull her back. "I said it was too late. Are you too thick to remember that?"

That was the last straw, and she broke free of his grasp and ran, downstairs and outside, into the freezing night without a coat. He found her mobile at the top of the stairs where she'd dropped it. So he couldn't track her. Slowly, though, his rage cooled as he realized what he'd done.

His cruelty hit him in the face like a slap, and he cursed himself silently. Why had he taken it all out on her? He stared into the flames, the crackling and popping invading his thoughts. What wold John say when he got home?

But a whisper crept his spine like a chill, going over and over again. It cold have been her lying mutilated. And she had a greater chance now than ever.

He didn't stand to look for her, tough, since she'd be long gone by now, and it was hopeless. He was left staring into the fire, drowning in his own regret.

* * *

**What do u guys think? I know it's been awhile, needed new ideas, but i got them. I'll update after 5 more reviews!**


	62. Whoose the liar?

She turned and ran, skidding down the road at break-neck speed, not caring where she went as long as it wa away from here. Sherlock- the name brought her rage to the boiling point, she hated him….

She thought briefly of Mark's house and stared towards his flat, not considering anything….

She stopped short when she saw Mark approaching. He had someone hanging off his arm, a girl, he realized, they were both laughing…. He pulled her into a passionate kissed, and she was unnoticed in the night. They slipped inside and she ehard the door close….

The next moment she ran again, away….

Mark had never dated a girl, had always been so devoted to the army…. She'd always been his one and only.

She didn't hate him, but she needed him, and he was busy….

Hide. She needed a place to hide, a place where no one would see her cry….

She ducked into another alley and bit her lip, tasting blood and finding the shell of a burned out building that she'd discovered, falling to her knees on an old piece of insolation and crying her eyes out….

She heard a meow, felt rough fur rubbing against her arm, smelled the foul smell… it was Gubby, the stray cat she'd befriended. She'd wanted to bring him home but hadn't come around to asking Sherlock about it yet….

She buried her face in his scrawny fur, hearing him purr, feeling the skinny ribcage until she fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion….

She woke up to find she was hungry and tired, joints stiff from cold and eyes feeling sandy from the crying.

Her mobile. She had money and her mobile at home, and she'd need her coat, it was so cold….

Gubby meowed, and she shushed him quietly. "I'll be back, I promise…."

She slowly crept down the alleys, breath misting in front of her as night slowly gave way to dawn.

She was cold, trying to walk out the stiffness of her joints…. She wasn't going to enter the front door of the flat and let Sherlock know she was there, and she climbed onto the dumpster in the alley and shinned up the drainpipe, slipping through the window into her room.

She found her money in the drawer where she'd left it, grabbed her coat….

She heard Sherlock talking, saw he'd set her mobile on her bed and grabbed it. But she couldn't help but hear a snatch of Sherlock's voice.

"Yes, she's gone, just like her father to do something so stupid…."

The mobile fell out of her hand with a clang of the floor. Sherlock paused. She grabbed it and ran to the window and slid down the drain pipe, jumping out of the dumpster and running, tears bruning her eyes.

"What was that?" John asked, starting at the hallway where the slight noise had come from.

Sherlock shrugged. "Probably nothing. Anyways, like I was saying, just like her father to do something so stupidly brilliant. Even Mycroft's spies haven't been able to find her. So many people after her and she can't see around the emotions inspiring her to hide. She's going to get hurt."

John nodded, trying to take it all in, still. He was mainly wondering where Anna was now…. She was an orphan, afterall, from the countryside, so where did she have to go?

She swore under her breath, tears rolling down her cheeks. So Sherlock thought her father was stupid, did he? She didn't have to take this. She hated the way he insulted her, but when he insulted her father it was too much….

She continued to cry until she ran out of tears, and she grapped a bit of snow to wash her face with and hide the look of a crying girl.

She stopped in at a café and bought a ham and cheese sandwich, eating half of it and not tasting it, returning to the shell of a flat and feeding the other half to Gubby, who wolfed it down and sat with her, purring and trying to heal her impossibly deep wounds.

She curled her knees to her chest and sobbed, trying to process it all, to breathe….

Sherlock. He was killing her slowly, picking her heart apart to watch it bleed. Her father had been brilliant, a hero, he'd saved countless lives in his military career, and Sherlock had called him stupid….

Of course, Sherlock didn't know she'd heard and when he said stupidly brilliant, he meant so emotionally driven. He'd joked for years with George about his 'stupidity', his deep devotion to his comrades that only military life could bring.

And her brilliance was being hidden for so long without a trace. Still, he was afraid she'd be kidnapped or hurt while she was without him, He'd been so busy protecting her he'd become the enemy in her eyes.

She'd been sleeping out in the cold, and on the third night she was freezing and ready. To drip form exhaustion. So when the black car she assumed Mycroft had sent for her oulled up at the curb, and she slod easily into the backseat and let the driver take her Emotions were too hrd to comprehend, and she needed help. Mucroft would be an ideal help.

After ten mintues of driving, they rewched a prking garage, Mycroft always chose odd places- it must've made him feel more sneaky. The car oulled away as she stepped out, wondering where in the world Mycroft was.

it was then she hard the voice.

"Hello Anna, i's been too long."

She whirled to find Moriarty striding towards her and moved to draw er pistol, but heknocked it easily out of her hand, drawing his own gun and puttingnit to her head.

"You know wha I want, of course." he spoke calmly.

She nodded, eyes dull with exhaustion and confusion, as well as sadness. "Go ahead, kill me. Sherlock doesn't want me, I'm alone."

He looked surprised, but he could've been feigning it. It was hard to tell...

"No, That's not what I want. I've been through this before, Anna, we're alike. People- people are stupid, they crush your hopes, laugh at your dreams, hurt you beyond measure, and you're left with the pain..."

She nodded, swallowing. He was right. He was so right.

"But I can help you." he threw his gun away. "I have the remedy, you need someone to care for you, and I can help you, little one."

He was lying, she could easily grab her own gun and shoot him, but here he was, facing her, defenseless...

She hesitated.

Moriarty smiled, brown eyes suddenly warm as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Yes, Anna Holmes, I care about you. Sherlock- he had no idea what he had, such brilliance..."

She didn't flinched as he leaned closer, voice growing soft. "And I can remedy all your pain. Do you want to know how?"

She nodded silently.

He leaned closer to her.

"Revenge." he whispered.

Everything in her was tight, and she shook her head.

"Anna, always so loyal, so obedient to him. Listen to me, little one, you've been toyed with so much, used, left behind. Remember?"

He was circling her now, mobile held up, the sound bytes if sherlock insulting her father playing, new ones she'd run away from before she could hear, his tone all the while growing more loathing.

She clenched her fists as tears an down her cheeks. It all hurt so much...

"Please, stop it." Moriarty obeyed, turning off the phone. She felt his arm around her shoulders.

"I care for you, Anna Holmes, at first you were just a kid, just an obsticle, just a pawn, but I see it now, you're much more, so much more, and I want to care for you. I'll help you. Are you read to pick up the pieces and build something?"

She wiped her eyes and nodded, and Moriarty smiled, brown eyes warm. He handed her gun, smiling. "We have work to do, Little One." he reached for her mobile and flicked it on. "Beause we can do anything together. And It'll stop the pain."

Sherlock was edgy, waiting, wondeirng how she'd managed for three days by herself, as night was setting it. It was near midnight, already, she hadn't been home except to her her mobile, and it'd been off so he couldn't track her. He still wondered, slightly amazed, how she'd managed to slip in withiut him noticing...

His mobile vibrated, and he grabbed it, hoping it was news from Mycroft.

What he saw made his heart jump to his throat, and he stared.

**I'm back. **

**-Jim**

He stared for a moment, shocked. His first thought was of Anna, she was alone, had been, was vunerable...

"John!" he was already starting the trace in her phone, hoping she'd had the sense to turn it on, but she could be completely oblivious that Moriarty was even back...

"Yes?" John's eyes showed his worry, as well, as he entered.

"He's back. We have to find her, before it's too late..."

The trace on the phone finished and he saw it was at a parking garage, his heart sank, Why would she have turned on her mobile if she hadn't needed him to track her? Meaning Moriarty probably already had her...

"We have to go." he didn't even bother to put on a coat, only ran out with his long sleeve shirt to shelter him forn the howling wind, John close behind him.

"In a parking garage..." he watched the signal come steadily as they approached, seeing one light shining, a beacon.

He could see the headlights of a black car on, illuminating in object in the darkness... Her mobile, lying on the floor, the wallpaper changed. Last he'd seen it it'd been a picture f them all together, now it was just a picture of her and Mark...

He bent down and picked up her phone, feeling his hope fall. She could already be dead.

"Bravo, Sherlock, Bravo." Moriarty stepped out, applauding slightly. "You've actually come. Only for the thrill of the chase, thiugh, not because you care."

He stood, eyes steely as he stared at Moriarty, The only ligt in the dark garage was the headlights.

"Where is she?"

Moriarty laughed. "Right here. Come on out, Little one."

Sherlock watched, shocked, as she stepped out of the blackness. Her Footing was sure as she held her pistol pointed at him.

"Colt..." he was instantly looking for wounds, oblivious of the gun she was pointing a him.

"Don't try that on me." she said, voice warning him as she stood, gun still pointed. "I'm going to end it now."

"Colt..."

"She's not your Colt. Isn't that right, Little one?"

Anna swallowed and nodded, and Sherlock could see her shaking as she stood, fear and uncertainty, as well as pain showing in her eyes, and he faltered fr a mment.

"Colt?"

"Shut up!" her reply was so sharp it echoed. Her eyes glistened with tears, but she held stance, gun still pointed, though she looked as though she was about to cry. "I- I'm going to kill you if you take one more step."

Moriarty watched he exchange, unarmed, waiting.

"Interesting turn of events, isn't it? You made her cry, Sherlock, you used her, She never belonged with you."

Anna nodded her agreement, though everything within her rebelled against shooting her uncle.

"Because I'm so stupid like my father!" she screamed, her rage suddenly rekindling to fever pitch as she held the gun. She took another step.

Sherlock heard the sound bytes Moriarty played on his phone as she took another step towards him, and another. The voice was off pitch, though, couldn't she tell they were faked?

He saw the exhaustion and realized her nerves were shot.

"Colt, I was trying to protect you."

"Liar! You never cared! I was your plaything, your expiriment! My father was an idiot to you, you hated him!"

She stopped to breathe, hes heaving. Her heart was racing, she was scared, so scared, tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Do you really believe that?" he asked, and he saw her visibly hesitate.

He saw it in her eyes, how the memories of them together were flashing through, even while she was terrifed and confused, how all the times he'd held her or let her lean against him or carried her back to the flat replayed in her mind as she stood there, gun pointng at him.

She looked helpless, so scare and helpless, he was inclined to run to her and hold her pull her close, but he kenw her frayed nerves would cause her to pull the trigger if rhe tried.

Noriarty say her alter, as well.

"Finish him!"

She whirled and fired, Noriarty ending up on the pavement... A car oulled up and he was dragged into it before they sped away.

Anna stared after him, gun falling to the ground with a clatter as she broke down all out sobbing.

When she went to fall to ehr knees he was beside her, and e caught her and cradled her while she cried, head buried in his chest, so helpess and afraid it was shocking...

"Colt... Colt, it's alright..."

"M-my dddadd..." she stuttered, still crying.

"He edited the sound bytes, except I saidyour father was one t d stupidly brilliant things..."

She simply held him tighter as she cried. "I... He lied to me..."

"Yes, he did. You knew it, though, you made the right choice."

"I almsot killed you! Sorry, I'm sorry..." she continued to sob, and he sat back againt the concrete pillar and stroked her hair. "It's alright, Colt, it's alright... You wouldn't have fired anyways. Not on me, at least."

She shook her head. "I... I almost did..."

"No, you didn't. You never would have, I know it. We'll talk later..." she nodded, dtill clinging to him as he carried her quietly back to the flat.


	63. Eyes

_ "Everyone stay down!" the sergeant ordered they were holed up behind some rocks, trying there best ti defend themselves, but they were pinned down by terrorist forces, ammo was running out... _

_She watched t all and saw them, saw her father crouching._

_"Daddy!" she ran towards him when she felt whatever t was strike her chest. Bullets, she realized, she screamed, not from her own agony but as she saw the grenade land behind the rocks._

_All the men started at it for a moment, shocked, and she watched her father fall onto it and take all the shrapnel, save them all..._

_"Daddy!" she screamed and tried to crawl towards him, the doctor, a man with sand hair who looked sort of like John, turned him over._

_"Stay with me, George!" he yelled over the hale of gunfire..._

_She could smell the blood and smoke, the sand was burning her as it entered the wound as she tried to drag herself towards him._

_"Tell... Tell them I love them..." she heard her father mutter with surprising clarity, considering they were still fifteen feet apart, He went limp, and she ended up screaming, the hot terror enveloping her as she saw her father's eyes go glassy as he laid still..._

_"Daddy! Daddy!"_

He gently sat down beside her bed, but she took not notice, only continuing to thrash in her sleep. She'd had nightmares before, but never as bad as this, and he gently brushed the hair from her face...

She stopped thrashing for a moment, chest heaving, beads of sweat on her forehead from the fight of it all...

He gently nudged her right shoulder until she was laying on her stomach, like she normally did when she slept peacefully, though she was still whimpering every now and then. It'd been days since she'd almost shot him, but she still continually blamed herself for everything...

He rubbed her back in circles like he'd done when she was little, and se made the small squeaking noises she always did as she drifted int a deeper, more peaceful sleep, where no nightmares could touch her.

Long after she'd stopped squeaking and was heavily asleep he still stayed beside her as she slept. She looked so frail, so childlike, as she slept. She was still, of course, just a child, but she could hide that fact with her brilliance and quick thinking. It seemed like mot of the time he was the only one who cold see the uncertainty behind her eyes, the fear and pain and loss she'd suffered...

She was his child, now, he supposed, not biologically, though she had his eyes and the intelligence of the Holmes.

He remembered Mary talking to him after she was put to bed one night during one of his visits to the manor.

"_She looks like you, Sherlock, thinks like you, acts like you... She even has your eyes."_

He'd denied it, known she was Mary's child all the way and not wanting to take satisfaction from George. George was the proud father, not him, she wasn't s child t boast of or take credit for. She had her father's skills at strategy, he could see it whenever she bluffed in a game of cards...

"No, Mary, she has your eyes."

Mary had simply shook his head at him and smiled, but he remembered, now, the lights green color they had, and he knew his sister had been right. She had his eyes.

He gently brushed the hair from her face now, looked at her sleeping peacefully. He knew she was already safe from nightmares, that he wasn't needed to rub her back now. But he didn't really want to leave, either, since she looked so childlike, he felt she needed his protection. Then again, f John found him here he'd think he'd grown clingy...

He contented himself with kissing her forehead gently before slipping out of the room, still remembering she had his eyes.


	64. 2 Deaths

**okay, i know its been awhile since I updated? Ths is right after the Reinbach Fall. She asn't in te episode because Sherlock sent her away a month and a half after Moariarty's trial, back to the Manor, so she'd be safe. She didn't know it was because he was trying to keep her safe. She's just returned to London after being told Sherlock is "dead". Next chaoter afer three more reviews!**

She woke up under suicide watch, crying her eyes out. Sherlock was dead, had been dead for two days. He'd jumped.

She'd been in the dark about it of course. Seven weeks after Moriarty walked free Sherlock said Zack wanted her to visit the manor, she was gone for one week, and then Mycroft's driver had shown up with the news...

And now she was under suicide watch,though she hadn't tried to kill herself at all. If she was going to kill herself, she reasoned, she'd go to Saint Barts and follow in Sherlock's footsteps, jump off the roof and let the death the pavement offered welcome her with open arms...

_"I promise I will never leave you."_

His words echoed in the hollows of her mind. He wouldn't leave her, but he'd jumped... He would never kill himself. Of that she was certain. He'd probably faked it all to protect her...

She sat up. This was the first clear thinking se'd had in two days, and it was refreshing. Sherlock was out there. She believed it, because it was the only hope she had left to cling to. She just had to find him.

Sherlock read his obituary in Scotland, where the web had led him. He'd ended up chasing down an assassin who'd committed suicide rather than been captured by him. But he could get all the clues he needed from the body.

The passport, the wine bottle, the set of crystal in her apartment- it was all leading him back to London.

He'd dyed his hair blonde, gotten a buzz-cut, since the tell-tale curls would be too recognizable. And now he was reading about his death.  
He'd heard about Anna of course, how mycroft had put her under suicide watch. His heart was breaking, but he had to keep at the task at hand. The sooner he cleared his name and dismantled the web, the soner he cold find her. He'd protected her. She was the most important thing to him, andhe'd made sure she was safe, now.  
Even if it broke his heart, it was better than her being in danger and coming with him.  
She looked out at the sky as it grew dark. Early March weather, no doubt... It was only her second day home from suicide watch.

"John, I'm going to bed." she announced, yawning for effect.

John had managed to get custody from Mycroft as Sherlock had stated in his will. John still wasn't sure what to do, really, he wasn't sherlock, but he was trying.

John's brow creased with concern. "You feeling alright?" it was hardly like her to go to bed this early, only at nine...

"Yeah, I feel fine. Can you tuck me in?" she'd never ask such a childish thing,but she knew it would make John feel safer and probably satisfy him that she was in bed and quell his urge to check on her.

John smiled. "Sure..."

She crawled under the covers, not bothering to change her clothes, but John didn't question her, tucking the covers in around her, and brushing the hair from her face.

"Goodnight."

"Night..." she let her eyes flutter closed and heard John close the door and walk away. She counted off five minutes before standing and sliding open her window, grabbing her knife before sliding down her drainpipe and into the alley, starting off at a brisk trot towards one of the many places she'd been with Sherlock.

It was the house from the Holocaust Revenge case. Moriarty had promised the gang leader money if he hurt Sherlock, so he'd no doubt had previous dealings with them...

She slid into the basement through an open window and climbed the stairs. The house had been condemned, so she didn't have much time. She climbed through the hole the Yard had cut in the wall to the hidden room. The body had been removed, but the wardrobe, chair, and bed remained. She gravitated to the wardrobe, turning on her mobile and letting the light show along the bottom. She found it useless and instead slid her hands along the bottom. It all appeared incredibly solid, until the back corner gave way to show it'd been a false bottom.

She fumbled in it and found an old check...

The Bank of London

44567901  
Amount; €220. Date; February 21st, 2012

Paid to the order of; Westman Harlem

Signed; Frank N. Cleaver. _

She stared. It almost looked like train tracks, the lines he'd drawn...

She pulled out her mobile and searched Westman Harlem. He'd been reported missing by his wife last month. He hadn't been found yet.

This was clever, so clever, writing it on a check... Check. She should check a location...

Frank N. Cleaver... N could stand for north, and the lines railroad tracks...

€220? Maybe it was his pay. But he'd want a lot more than €220 for a murder...

She whispered all the words, letting them tumble over one another and her head.

Check railroad tracks 220 north...

She snapped to attention and started to laugh. Of course. 220 junction, where route 220 met the railroad tracks. The body was there...

She was already jogging towards it, she took the tube as close as she could, still fingering the check...

Junction 220 North. There were rails to keep cars off the tracks, but they were up, so no train was coming, and she slipped onto he track,turning on the flashlight app on her mobile.

There was nothing off as she walked up and down the tracks, wondering what was going to clue her off...

She could see the light of an approaching train in the distance, and heard the whistle, but ignored it, turning off her flashlight app and still looking. She had time before she had to bail off the tracks...

There was a rusted burn barrel opposite her, slightly inside the woods which surrounded the tracks at this junction... The remains were probably stashed there.

The train whistle howled louder, she turned to see the light rapidly growing bigger and jumped off the tracks when the wind snatched the check form her hand. It was evidence, she needed it...

She threw herself in front of the train, snatching the check from the air and landing on the other side of the tracks on the gravel, rolling down the small hill and gasping for breath... The train hadn't struck her, but se was terrified, and she allowed herself to lay facedown in the cool gravel and try to calm her racing heart...  
Her heart pounded in her ears, she could feel the air rushing from the train as it blew past her, the whistle deafened her even more...

Sherlock stared as she jumped in front of the train, feeling his stomach twist into knots. He tried to scream but no sound came, and he just stared a where she'd stood. He'd have to find her, find her mutilated, broken body on the other side of the tracks. She was dead. Because of him.

The train slowly rumbled on and the whistle died away. He made out her form facedown on the gravel and ran to her.

"Colt... Colt, please... Don't be dead..." he was surprised to hear his voice cracking and wetness on his cheeks as he gently rolled her onto her back. Her eyes were closed, she was motionless and pale...

He saw just what his leaving had done to her, then. There were dark circles under her eyes, she'd probably been having nightmares again, and she always refused to come t anyone but him when she did... Her pale face was even paler than normal, slightly thinner, she laid like a rag doll in his arms, her spunk and ferocity gone from her like the pulse she was no doubt lacking...

He cried quietly, running a hand through her chestnut hair... She still smelled like lavender and gunpowder, but she was growing cold in his arms...

He looked down to see her smiling at him, eyes open. "Eyes can do funny things, can't they?"

He started, but didn't let go of her, only stared. The light in her green eyes seemed radiant in the night.

"Eyes can play tricks on you, all the time. Eyes can even fool the great Sherlock Holmes."

He shook his head. "What possessed you to do that?" he demanded.

She shrugged. "If you can fake your own death, I can do it ten times better."

Sherlock chuckled at that.

"And I needed to save this." she held up the check and Sherlock stared. He pulled it from her hand and examined it. She noticed a similar check sticking out of his coat pocket.

He examined it before skipping it into his pocket, she rolled her eyes. Of course he'd want to keep the evidence to himself and try and keep her from harm's way...

"How is everyone doing?"

She shrugged. "They're coping..."

"And how are you doing?"

"Good... Now that you're here..." her voice cracked and she buried her face in is chest as the tears she'd held back spilled over.

Sherlock rubbed her back and felt her small frame shivering in the cold. He draped his leather coat over her shoulders in a vain attempt to keep her warm, though he could already tell she'd have a cold in the morning.

He let her cry and wrapped his arms around her.

"Shh... It'll be alright. I don't have to go yet."

She looked up, tear-stained face desperate. "Take me with you." she pleaded.

"I can't. They'd consider it kidnapping, and whose the one person in the world who cares for Anna Holmes the most?"

"You." she muttered, not meeting his eyes.

"They'd realize I was still alive. I've been working on the web these past few weeks. I'll finish taking it down soon, I promise."

"How soon?" she asked.

"Six months at the most. You'll be alright, Colt. Don't breathe a word of this to anyone, alright?"

She nodded and leaned into him, and Sherlock had to smile as he saw she was asleep, exhaustion and relief mingled on her face.  
Slowly, he stood, her still in his arms. He'd found a check with the same writing in the home of the last assassin, it appeared to be where the dropped the bodies, burned them, and then disposed of the ashes...

He forgot the details, simply looking at her peaceful face as she slept. He'd have to leave soon, and he wanted to remember her expression...


	65. Texts

She woke up in her own bed, alone and freezing... Had it all been a dream?

She didn't smell Sherlock's cologne, she didn't have the check in her pocket, but Sherlock had taken it along with his... Though it could have never existed at all...

She didn't see any mud on the bottom of her boots, didn't smell Sherlock's cologne... Had he been wearing cologne? The details of last night seemed to be fading, like a dream.

Her head was on fire, now, along with the back of her throat, which was scratchy, and she felt achey as she stood and stumbled into the kitchen.

John smiled at her and was about to say good morning when he noted her flushed cheeks.

"You feeling alright? You look awful." He stepped forward and felt her forehead, and she leaned into his hand, probably finding it cool...

"You're definitely running a fever. Probably caught a chill. Sit down for me."

She smiled, suddenly. How could she have caught a chill if she hadn't been outside with Sherlock last night? So it wasn't a dream...

John slipped the thermometer under her tongue, and it beeped a moment later. He check the reading and looked down at her.

"Congratulations, you've just earned yourself a few days of bed rest."

She shuddered and didn't protest, and he draped a blanket over her shoulders and got out a tongue depressor.

"Say Ahhh." John instructed.

"Ahhh..." She ended up coughing, a raspy, hard cough that made it feel like she was swallowing molten glass...

John felt her throat and listened to her breathing before finally asking her for symptoms.

"Achey, cold, tired, sore throat, headache, and cough." She said reluctantly. She didn't want to be whiney or spoiled, even if she did feel like crud...

"You must be miserable." John said, handing her a cup of medicine which she downed without complaint.

"Kind of." She admitted, wrapping the blanket tighter around her as she closed her eyes and leaned into John, who had sat beside her.

She was miserable, slightly, but her cold was the proof she had that Sherlock had been with her that night. Her raging grief stopped, and she smiled. As soon as she was reasonably better, she'd try and help him take down the web...

He'd no doubt left her here to keep her safe, but she had snapped a picture of the check last night on her mobile... It wasn't on her camera, but she'd emailed it to two addresses. One to her own address, on her phone, and the other to an address she hadn't told Sherlock about on her laptop...

She grabbed her laptop from the end table and accessed the account, smiling. For once, she'd managed to best her uncle.

Sherlock sighed as he sat down in the deserted cafe, slightly bloody from a tangle with the man called Frank N. Cleaver. He was a butcher and assassin, which was supported by the name Cleaver...

The account numbers on the checks he'd received were different. The assassin in Scotland had signed it Hannah Wessan. She was dead, now, had commit suicide rather than tell the secrets of the web to him...

He sighed. Frank N. Cleaver was wanted for three assassinations, he'd managed to detain him and call the Scotland Yard with his whereabouts...

Of course, he'd gotten a new mobile number, though he still had the old phone...

It dinged, and he stared at the text.

**I'm sick. How's the chase going?**

**-AH**

He stared for a moment.

**Who are you and how did you get this number?**

He texted back.

**It was obvious, my birthday. 12/24/1999. Knowing you, you omitted one 9 since it was the most repetitive. You can text your name, I messed with the signal so no one can track these texts. They're all encrypted to the viewer until I enter a password, and if they screw it up once all the texts are destroyed.**

**-AH**

**That had to take some time.**

**-SH**

**It did. I have a ton of time. I'm sick, remember?**

**-AH**

**Right. Everything is fine. Go to sleep now, before John notices you're texting and gets curious.**

**-SH**

She sighed and tucked her phone into her pocket, feeling awful as she laid still. The tylenol wasn't working well, and she let her eyes fall closed...

John smiled when he saw her, asleep and bundled in the blankets. He gently pressed his hand to her forehead, finding she was still running a fever and sighing. She was so like Sherlock...

A wave of grief suddenly overcame him, and he sat down beside her, gently pulling her into his lap and feeling her nuzzle against him.

She was his, now, he supposed, and he felt the pain come rolling over him, now. The poor kid- first her parents dead, now Sherlock...

She was remarkably unchanged, though, she was so strong... She must have been used to grief by now.

He'd always known her well, always managed to stitch her up and bandage her when she hurt herself, which was quite often...

And then there was the bickering. He'd seen the light in her eyes when they bickered. She seemed to consider it normal to bond through arguments. She tried to do it with everyone but Sherlock.

Sherlock was always the one exception to the rules she lived by, it seemed.

She was always different when it came to him. More bashful, more silent, more inquisitive with him. And Sherlock was always patient wih her- he always explained things to her, and she stored it away in her mind palace for future use.

Then again, if she was quieter and more like background noise with Sherlock, Sherlock was a fiercely protective keeper, always engaging Anderson or Donovan before they could insult her too much...

How on earth was he going to fill the place Sherlock had occupied? He had no knowledge of sleuthing beyond hers, no skills she didn't have already...

But when he looked at her, he saw the face of a child, a child who needed someone permanent in her life...

He could be that, at least.


	66. John is Oblivious

It'd been a few days since her fever had broken when John got a text from Lestrade.

**Could you bring Anna? We really need her at 4427 Walnut ave.**

**-Lestrade**

John hesitated. Anna had been better for a few days, but she seemed pale and tired...

Anna had already seen the text though, and was sliding on her coat against the cold March weather.

"Anna, you're still pretty run down..."

"I need to go. He would've wanted it, John, I feel closer to Sherlock..." John saw the pleading in her eyes and nodded.

"Fine. But I want you in bed early tonight."

She nodded and started outside.

It was at a party hall. The man was splayed out on the ground, dead, a look of fear frozen onto his face...

There was a balcony, and she looked up, sending a quick text on her mobile before crouching down beside the body.

"Killed by nightshade poison, incredibly concentrated to kill him within minutes, he took the poison himself... Brilliant..." her voice had lowered to a whisper, and she stated to cough with her mouth closed.

She smiled suddenly and sent another text. "Obviously feared being killed by his own organization for being caught more than he feared his suicide... See the blossom in his pocket? Part of the nightshade plant. This is wonderful..."

She looked up at the balcony and grinned. "Brilliant murder, had to have been done by a serial killer, or someone who knew if they confronted him he'd kill himself... He's been searched already. The killer, well, the one who influenced him to kill himself, searched him... I can't give you any information after that. You have to catch the killer."

Lestrade stared. "Anything about the killer?"

"Nothing. He didn't kill him, so I can't tell you anything. It might even be a she. No evidence anywhere to support anything... Except he has a latex allergy. You can see the hives starting to break out. As he was dying someone touched him with latex gloves."

She grinned again. "Call me when you find the next body he's left behind. I'm going to enjoy following him- or her- it would be nice to meet a female killer for once."She sent one last text and slipped her phone into her pocket, starting to cough again and covering her mouth before starting outside, John following her.

Sherlock watched from a distance on the balcony- he couldn't hear her, but his mobile vibrated in his pocket.

**I see you searched the corpse. No hair, you must've shaved your head since I last saw you. Wonderful work, no finger prints, not even on the ground, you must've scared the crud out of him with latex gloves...**

** -AH**

**I see the skin irritation, he has a latex allergy, no doubt, you probably took some hair for a DNA test since he has no ID or records...**

**-AH**

**He was probably on another job, came to the party for some reason... You scared him good. You missed the fact he has initials embroidered on his handkerchief.**

**-AH**

**Brilliant.**

**-AH**

He smiled, but didn't text a word back in reply, incase the records came up in a court case. He'd never actually killed these people,r even threatened them. He'd simply told them he knew about their involvement in the criminal web, and they'd popped the pill out f fear of what the organization would do if the knew.

It was all linked through the checkbooks, as well. Each person had his own account and check book, they paid one another through the checks and communicated locations of remains and murder weapons.

Still, half the accounts were under false names, and he needed to find who at the bank was cashing their payment checks, since the huge amounts- over millions of dollars- should have been checked out before they were cleared. He sighed. He needed a hacker.

He knew only one.

**I need you to hack into a national bank system.**

**-SH**

**I'm game. Which one, and when?**

**-AH**

**Bank of London. Seems Moriarty had friends there when he engineered the entire fake break in, and this business wit the checkbooks, as well. How long will it take?**

**-SH**

**At least two hours. I'm not even sure I can do it. I'll probably get caught, but you just need information, right? On who cleared the payment checks? **

**-AH**

**Try not to get caught. By the end of the day would be nice, and yes, just the name of the employee who cashed the checks. The web is a lot smaller than I originally thought. A few tight knit assassins, some politicians and security guards, and some money hungry gangs. The most devoted subjects are the assassins, obviously, since he had a lot of tracks to cover. Just give me the name of the employee who cashed the checks.**

**-SH**

**Why are you telling me this? You said you didn't want me involved. I'm not complaining, just curious. I can't deduce anything over the phone.**

**-AH**

Sherlock sighed. He hated to pull her in on this situation, but it was remarkable how far she was willing to go to help him. It almost made him scared, the power he wielded over her because of her devotion. But he texted a reply back anyways.

**Because I need you to help me take the entire thing apart.**

**-SH**

**I've been waiting for this. I'll get back to you when I'm done. By the way, what's the plan on clearing your name?**

**-AH**

**That's the surprise.**

**-SH**

She smiled and grabbed her laptop up as soon as she got home, slipping into her room. John smiled. Crime scenes made her so happy. She must really feel closer to Sherlock while she was there...


	67. An Odd Night

**Sorry I didn't update sooner, guys, I hit writers block and found some other things to write about, but I'm back and intend to try and update this at least once or twice a week. Please, please review! Eviews inspire me and keep me going! Even if you hate this, it would be nice to know why you do and how I can fix it! Please review! Thanks again, guys! :)**

She sighed. She'd been ducking fire walls for over two hours now, getting through the bank and into the information... She grinned as she finally finished and snapped a picture of the screen, sending it to Sherlock...

"Freeze! Government Security!" she heard the door being kicked down and winced. Of course she'd have to get caught.

"Anna Scarlett Holmes!" Mycroft boomed. Oh, this was getting better by the minute.

"Yes?" she asked, looking up, forcing herself to look bored.

"I get a call the bank of London is being hacked into, and it's my own niece!"

"How embarrassing that must've been. I'm a bit busy now, unfortunately..."

The government agents stared from one Holmes to the other, and Mycroft looked aghast. "Busy doing what? Hacking more national banks!?"

"No, and it was too easy, by the way, I'd like to have a word with the IT specialist who works there. Now, can you bugger off?"

"Don't tell me to bugger off young lady!" Mycroft yelled, jowels jiggling and face red with rage.

She rolled her eyes and flashed a grin, grabbing her mobile and jumping out the window, sliding down the drainpipe and into the alley and grinning at the shocked look on her uncle's face.

"Taxi!" she called, and a moment later the black car pulled over. She got into the back.

"Where to, Ms. Holmes?" the diver asked in a familiar baritone.

"Wherever you'd like to take me, Sherlock." Anna said, grinning, The cabbie turned around and she found herself facing Sherlock, with his head shaved and a new look.

"Abandoned warehouse, I figured we might as well surprise the assassins. In the briefcase back there, there's a kevlar bodysuit. Put it on- things will get ugly, and the last thing you want is a bullet wound."

She nodded, she'd been waiting for just an occasion like this, and she gratefully changed in it before heading to the poorer district in london- tonight they'd finish whit Moriarty had started.

"I want you to stay behind me, alright? We only knock them out- their testimony will be needed. After this, when the police come, I'll turn myself in. With there testimony, though, it should be enough to prove me innocent. Are we understood?"

Anna nodded. "And if we fail?"

"We're Holmes's, Anna, we don't fail." Sherlock said, earning him a smile from his niece.

"Oh, and I bought you this. Figured you'd need it." Sherlock said, handing her a semi-automatic pistol.

"Thanks." Anna said, smiling. Just then the warehouse exploded.

"Looks like someone's trying to flush our dear assassins out." Sherlock said, motioning for Anna to follow him as they crept towards the entrance of the burning building.

A woman and a man both staggered out, and Anna tackled the woman while Sherlock dealt with the man, each knocking the desired target unconscious. Suddenly gunfire rained down on them, and they looked up to see one of the remaining assassins firing down on them from a second-story window.

Just then, six police cars pulled up, and Anna swore. "Looks like we interrupted a planned police stakeout." she said, sighing as she returned fire.

"Yeah, looks like it."

Lestrade got out of his car, gaping at them both. "Anna! Sh-Sherlock... what the heck is going on!" Lestrade demanded, looking shocked.

"You must've had one too many, Lestrade- scotch, I presume, by the stains on your shirt." Sherlock said, grinning as Lestrade's mouth opened wider.

Just then, a man stepped out and fired off his pistol. The bullets hit Anna square in he chest, and her knees buckled as she fell...

Sherlock gave her a look, and she stayed down. Lestrade stared, and the man who'd fired came to stand, stepping callously over her fallen form like she was nothing more than a large doll, gun aimed at Sherlock.

"It ends here, Holmes." he said roughly.

Sherlock eyed Anna's fallen body. He'd felt his heart stop when the bullets hit her, but now he could see she was breathing...

"So you kill a child. How brave of you." Sherlock said sharply, deciding to play along with the charade Anna was dying on the pavement, for now.

"Don't question my methods. The bastard was hardly a child." the man said, gun still aimed.

Sherlock felt his blood boil as the man took another step towards him. "Drop your gun. Now. Hands up." he ordered. Sherlock cast his gun to the side, disgusted. Now was when he needed his niece more than ever...

There was a resounding crack as the butt of Anna's pistol collided with the man's skull and his eyes rolled back in his head as he fell. Anna had spent years hunting on the dales, and knew exactly how to sneak up of her prey. This man had never seen it coming.

"Whose the bastard now?" she asked, looking down at him hatefully before grinning and running over to Sherlock.

"You certainly know how to play dead." Sherlock remarked, ruffling her hair.

"What about the last one?" Anna asked, face turning serious.

"We already caught him." Lestrade supplied. He could never think of Sherlock as a crook, no matter what he was accused of.

Donovan stared."That was all just an act?" she asked, disbelief etched on her features.

"Of course it was. Did you really think I'd take my thirteen year old niece up against four of the world's best assassins without bullet proof on?" Sherlock asked, looking at Donovan like she was stupid.

He then turned to Lestrade. "So I assume you have to arrest me now or something?"

Lestrade nodded sheepishly. "Yes, I'm afraid so, it's procedure..."

"Don't worry, I don't take it personally. Anna, meet me at jail tomorrow morning? We have a trial to discuss. Don't worry, Mycroft will just yell at you and be annoying before he has the government drop the charges against you. Oh, bring John tomorrow too, and Mrs. Hudson, alright?"

Anna nodded. "You promise we'll win the trial, Sherlock?"

"I promise. Now go home. Do you need money for a taxi?"

She nodded. "I forgot to grab my wallet when I ran."

Sherlock handed her some bank notes before Lestrade handcuffed him, and she hugged him one last time before going to get a cab home. Lestrade blinked, surprised he was arresting his dead friend, who'd just given his niece cab money. It certainly was a strange night.


End file.
